#then i thought about a human but decided no so... heres this
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I'M A COWBOY ON MY OWN TRIP
── ♡ BOOTHILL
❝ the road of a galaxy ranger is a lonely one. fortunately, boothill would never leave you be. ❞
Boothill is impossibly hard to get a hold of, and you consider that the next time he shows up for his maintenance, you’ll plant a GPS on him.
The unofficial Galaxy Ranger and ex-robotic scientist that you are, Boothill had become your personal project. His maintenance, upgrading his body and enhancing his current weaponry have been your turf, something you took keen delight in that you’ll never speak to the word, lest Boothill catches wind and stops paying mind to your complaints.
His entrance is always predictable. With a kick to your door, you will scoff, and he’ll stroll in with a damaged component or two that you’ll have to fix. When your door opens with a creak instead, you feel a chill run through your spine and you are already out of your desk chair by the time he stumbles in. Something heavy lodges in your throat when you catch your first sight of him, a mess of stray wires and missing metal, his prosthetics wrapped around his steel torso to try and keep his wiring and sensors from spilling out. His eyes are dull when he looks at you, missing his usual toothy grin. You run and grab him before he can collapse to the ground, ushering him to the medical bed you found in an abandoned hospital, treating it like an exam table.
“What happened to you?” You stress, and you gently move his arm out of the way to assess the damage. You examined the more critical damage first, where some cords were snapped clean. You believe Boothill to be extremely lucky that it wasn’t the one connecting him to his artificial heart. Metal was easy to replace, rewiring was not and if the component keeping him functioning stopped working, there was no way you could revive him again. Your teeth catch the bottom of your lip at the thought.
“Sorry, I got all banged up, Doc,” It’s the first time he’s ever apologised to you for coming to your workshop for fixing. It’s also the first time he’s ever been such a wreck, so you decide to ignore the semantics and shake your head.
“How did it happen?” You interrogate, lifting one of his legs that had a gaping hole in the middle. At your delicate touch, his ankle suddenly detached and you wince instinctively.
“They opened fire suddenly, fudging scum,” He spits out in hatred, and despite his visible exhaustion before, his eyes light up at the memory. “They were blasting away while there were kids there.”
You don’t inquire about the safety of the children. Boothill is one of the most skilled rangers you know, and even if an entire armed military began a shoot-out, he’d find a way to evade it. With the amount of bullet holes in his body, he definitely used himself as a human shield and the thought makes you purse your lips. From the long years since you’ve met him, you were quick to find out that Boothill had very few weaknesses, but one of them was definitely children. You aren’t sure why, and you don’t know if you’ll ever know. Hopes, dreams and history aren’t things discussed between rangers. Even your mutually beneficial relationship with him is a rarity amongst the group. Yet, there is a mutual understanding. Things that went unspoken and what made you guys so in sync in the first place. So, you break off his unrecoverable attachments and continue with what you have to do. Both of you speak nothing as you begin shifting through your cabinets of prosthetic parts, labelled under ‘Boothill’. Usually, he is all chatter when he stops by, either badgering you to finally fix his Synthessia Beacon he utterly despises (and you kept intact out of pettiness), or striking up a conversation about whatever he uncovered during his solo missions. You don’t blame his quiet solemness today, but it doesn’t make it any less unnerving, like the silence isn’t meant to be here. You were the first to break it.
“You’re lucky my shipment for spares arrived in time,” You state, walking over to him. By ‘shipment’ you meant whatever passing rangers happened to drop off at your doorstep after successful thefts at IPC warehouses. It’s laughable for you to think of IPC packages arriving at your doorstep in the middle of nowhere, a mailman ready for you to sign the papers.
“Lucky me,” He drawls out sarcastically, and you take a moment to flick his forehead. “What the fudge, Doc!”
You ignore his annoyed exclamation, hiding your growing smile behind hunched shoulders as you begin screwing on his replacement ankles.
“I can fix, some of the more critical parts,” You gesture vaguely to his legs. “But the rewiring is the real issue here. Luckily, I’ve sanitised the tubes already.”
He stiffens for a moment, his eyes unfocused as he looks up at you with furrowed eyebrows and a frown.
“You’re putting me to sleep?” He asks, void of his usual attitude and you hesitate. You knew Boothill hated being forcibly rebooted and put to sleep. You aren’t sure what he dreams of, but whenever it’s over he’ll keep his gaze away from you, and reels at your every attempt to approach him, even for a checkup. You sympathised with him, and you’ve grown to hate it as much as he did. Unfortunately, right now it’s necessary. With his mainstream wiring damaged beyond repair, you need to replace them and you can’t have him awake during the process and potentially damage the framework.
“I’m sorry,” You mean it but he looks as if he couldn’t hear you, his eyes now fixed on a random oil stain on the floor.
“Be fast with it, ‘kay?” He mumbles and you nod. You reach over and trace the synthetic skin of his neck, where the bumps of his skin reveal his power button. You’ve already memorised just about every inch of his body from all the times you’ve spent with him, working on him. Yet, you take the selfish moment to let your gloved fingers caress the spot, almost in a lover’s embrace. He’s looking at you the entire time and finally your eyes meet his. There is a moment’s breath of a pause before he flashes you a toothy smile and you swiftly press the button. The corners of his lips drop in an instant, his eyelids falling shut and his body going limp. He’ll never know how the sight of him like this made you want to throw up yourself. You aren’t sure what happened to you, ever since the damn bandit came into your life and the path you had planned for yourself suddenly became tainted with sporadic visits and bellied laughter from a scratchy voice. You used to be colder. It’s what being a calculating scientist made you. Yet, Boothill, his justice that he goes on about, they all muddled your senses to the point that the idea of him being taken from you in one irreversible swoop made bile rise to your throat. He’ll never know those, because you need him to maintain his image of you; a cool-headed robotician whose nerves he always manages to get on.
You carry his unmoving figure over your shoulder and you don’t register your body’s complaints of his weight. There were things more painful than this, you think as you zip him into one of the prepared tubes. As preserving liquid fills the metal cylinder, you catch your image in the reflective glass. Have you always been this tired?
Another two months go by when you next see Boothill.
His last visit, which had been a critical one, had finished with little commotion. After reprogramming his hardware and forging the rest of his broken pieces, he was back in prime shape and left with nothing more than a “thanks”. His radio silence almost made you wonder if he resented you for his forced shutdown, and you try not to pay it much thought as you busy yourself with any unfinished project you could get your hands on.
That is, until an uneventful afternoon when your door is kicked open and you sit up with your first instinct to yell your complaints. Boothill strides in and your striking words dispel before they leave your lips.
“Oh,” You can only reply dumbly, and his grin somehow widens.
“Knew you’d be holed up in here, Doc,” He dares to sass, resting a hand on his hip as he surveys the packaged food on your desk, and the bags under your eyes. You click your teeth.
“Broke something again?” You wearily ask him, plopping yourself back into your spinning chair and giving him a quick scan.
“Do I gotta be broken to visit?” He poses it as a question but doesn’t listen to your answer as he drops himself onto your springy couch, feet kicked up like the ill-mannered guest he is.
“I don’t have time to waste on you,” You scoff, rolling your eyes as you turn back to the radio you had been taking apart.
“I got food.”
You asked him if he wanted something to drink.
For a man who couldn’t get drunk, Boothill adored his alcohol. You think he rides off the placebo effect of drinking, but choose not to comment since he’s finally decided to stop being so hot-and-cold with you and instead animatedly reciting his encounter with The Swarm.
“Most annoyin’ fudgin’ shirtbags I’ve had ta’ fight,” He snarls, before downing the rest of the bottle in his hand. It’s his third one. “Kept on multiplying no matter how many holes I put in ‘em.”
Despite your off-record status as a Galaxy Ranger, your areas of expertise stayed within the confines of machinery and weapons, with you never having even touched a gun in your life. From the stories, you couldn’t have been more grateful for the fact.
“How fast do you think they regenerate?” You question, resting your chin on the palm of your hand. He thinks.
“Around every few seconds,” He answers and raises a brow at you. “Why?”
“For next time,” You uncross your legs. “If I can increase the speed of your reloading, you can probably kill them before they have the chance to regenerate back.”
Usually, your new ideas for him would be met with enthusiasm, whereby he’d test his limits by suggesting his own upgrades which you’d either agree to or shut down. Much to your surprise, he tilts his head back and lets out a low groan.
“Seriously, all you got is work in that noggin’ of yours,” He comments, giving you a flat look and you splutter immediately in defence.
“But you are talking about work, too!” You retort and he laughs loudly, leaning on the backrest of the couch as if he knows something you don’t.
“I’m telling ya’ something about myself. Now you gotta too,” He explains and it gives you pause, turning your head to stare at him with incredulity.
“What is this, twenty questions?” You joke but he shrugs nonchalantly.
“Sure.”
“I think I’m a pretty open book,” Your gesture vaguely around your small and unkempt home shrouded in darkness with nothing but the straining blue light of your computer. “This is my whole life, right in front of you.”
“It ain’t,” He refutes immediately and you frown at him, not sure what’s going on with him tonight. “Unless you tellin’ me you’ve lived like this since you were born, then it ain’t your whole darn life.”
It’s the invitation you’ve always secretly prayed for. That someone will look at your dishevelled self and the mess you lie in, and say you were more than that. Boothill, of all people, is giving you the chance. Yet, your hands feel clammy as you press them together and suddenly the cyborg beside you is hard to look at.
“Why would it matter?” You ask him sincerely, missing your usual condescension. There is a brief silence before he continues.
“‘Cause I feel like it does,” He confesses, voice dropping lower as if he’s speaking into the world something only you and he should know of. “‘Cause I’ve been thinkin’ of how ya’ keep savin’ my behind, and how fudgin’ weird it is I don’t know anythin’ about ya’.”
You look at him, really look at him, and he meets you back with a defiant stare of your own. For a second, something crosses his eyes and you lose instantly, sucking in a sharp breath.
“You will think of me less.”
“Not possible,” He instantly hits back.
You fall back onto the uncomfortable scratchy fabric of your sofa, and your stare meets your dull, tilled ceiling. You reminisce about when grey was replaced with expensively painted beige, and the seat underneath you used to be a mahogany brown chair. In front of you had been a projection board, equations scribbled hastily across the screen. Your graded test paper sits in your book bag, perfect mark as usual. You think back to how far you’ve fallen from grace.
“Okay,” You say, “And you’ll tell me about yourself too. No enemies, no battles, just you.”
Something crosses his expression, but he agrees anyway. You will learn of his vendetta, of his anger and grief, of the daughter he never could have seen grow up. He will learn of you as Icarus, the one who reached too close to the sun and condemned themself to the ground. After the drinks have finished pouring, he will leave as if nothing had happened, announcing the next date for his visit. There is a silent agreement in the air that night.
You both were not good at living. And you have officially breached the line of co-workers.
#hsr#hsr x reader#honkai starrail#honkai star rail#honkai star rail x reader#honkai sr#honkai sr x reader#honkai starrail x reader#boothill x reader#boothill#hsr boothill#hsr boothill x reader
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༊*·˚Sensación del Bloque
✧.* Pair - Joost Klein x Fem! Reader
✧.* Tags & Warnings - fluff and cussing ig
✧.* Summary - Joost finds out about his friend's new neighbor and doesn't act upon introductions until he sees her in all of her beauty.
✧.* Extra- a couple things... reader is implied to be latina, implied to have a more tanner/browner/darker complex, and reader is going to have acrylic nails and gold jewelry cuz those are my favorite things in the world rn… also i dont speak dutch so the highlighted parts are the ppl speaking dutch. ALSOO reader has a place holder smell (vanilla) but yall can change it if you want ALSOOO reader doesn’t speak dutch okay im done now
✧.* Word Count - 1,319
Joost always enjoyed meeting new people. It always allows him to share his work with others. He can be shy about his work but it's inevitable for people to know about him and his art. People never know when they are going to meet someone new unless it's planned.
Just like any other day for an artist, Joost was working with his friend, Antu, on the production of some beats for a new song in his friend’s apartment. “Man, I'm kind of hungry I'm not going to lie,” Antu randomly said, taking his eyes off his computer to look at Joost. They’ve been working on beats since the morning and being too focused on work, they forgot about the basic essentials a human body needs. Food.
“Well, what do you want to get? I don’t feel like driving so pick a place near here,” Joost replied.
Joost felt like it was an eternity letting Antu pick a fast food place. When he finally decided where to get food, they placed an order through the phone for pick up and waited. It was a quiet couple of minutes of waiting until Antu broke the silence, “I got a new neighbor”
“Seriously?”
“Yup. I’ve been trying to talk to her but she kind of ignores me. Like she’s playing hard to get,” Antu shared.
Joist gave him a confused look, “I thought you were talking to Sofie. Did you guys stop talking or something?”
Antu looked at Joost, “No… Im still talking to Sofie but that doesn’t mean im taken,” he said, making Joost roll his eyes.
“Do you know where she moved from?” Joost asked
Antu shrugged, “I heard some of the other neighbors say she’s not from Europe though. Probably somewhere in the Americas.”
A couple of minutes rolled by and Joost decided to start making his way to the place to pick up the food they ordered. He walked out of the apartment and checked his phone to see if the order was complete. While he was checking, he heard the next door open and was met by the most gorgeous looking woman he has ever seen. that must’ve been the new neighbor Antu was talking about.
She was gorgeous. everything about her screamed “goddess”. Her hair, her makeup, her jewelry, her nails everything. Joost didn’t wanna stare, but it was hard not to. The way her hair hugged the frame of her face. The way her flawless makeup sat. The way her gold jewelry reflected on her skin. The way her acrylic nails made her hands look pretty. He was able to smell her sweet vanilla scent from where he was at. something about her, made him intrigued to know her, even though this was the first time he was seeing her.
The woman was trying to look for something in her purse and seemed like she was struggling. She ended up giving up and started walking towards the elevator past him, but what she didn’t notice was that she dropped a euro. Joost saw this and thought that God was giving him a huge opportunity to talk to her. He picked up the euro and prepared himself.
“Excuse me ma’am” she ignored him “Ma’am, excuse me” she ignored him again. He got closer to her and thats when she turned around to face him. She felt his presence. Joost was even more nervous than he was. He was up close to her and felt his body go weak. “You dropped this, ma’am” he said to her.
She gave him a confused look at first and looked at his hand that had the euro note. “Is this… mine?” she said in a confused tone. From that short moment, Joost figured out why Antu couldn’t talk to her. She didn't speak Dutch. Joost didn’t know how Antu didn’t know since he said himself that she wasn’t from Europe.
“Oh, sorry! Yes this is yours. You dropped it.” Joost said in English.
He handed her the euro and gave her a nervous chuckle. She smiled back and gently took it from him. “Thank you so much,” she said to him. Her voice was heaven to Joost’s ears.
“No, problem,” he said. She started walking away, but Joost didn’t want her to. He didn’t want to stop talking to her. He wanted more from her. “Um, ma’am” he grabbed her attention again, “did you just move here?”
“I did. 2 months ago.” she replied, “im still trying to figure out where places are and stuff. Im trying to find a good clothing store near by.”
More opportunities were coming to the Dutch artist and he didn’t want them to go to waste. “Oh, I know a bunch of stores around here. I was actually about to head out to pick up some food from a place that’s around a lot of good clothing stores. If you want we can walk together around that place,” he exclaimed.
The woman gave him a smile and a smooth giggle, “You’re sweet, but im going to pass. I want to learn on my own.”
Joost was slightly disappointed but he couldn’t complain. “W-Well if you ever need any help, im always at my friends place working, stop by anytime,” he suggested.
She nodded and continued walking, but Joost called her out again. “Uh, ma’am?” she turned around to look at him, “Can I get your name? My name is Joost” he held out his hand for her to shake.
She looked down at his hand and back at him. “Everyone here is so nice,” she commented, “My name is (Y/N),” she said while taking out her hand to shake his. Joost was analyzing every detail about her. The way she talked, the way she dressed, her smooth hand, everything. As she walked away, she turned around one last time to tell him, “I like your outfit by the way.”
He watched the way her hips swayed as she walked and was enamored. Joost smiled almost like a dork. He felt extremely giddy inside like he could jump up high like they would in those corny musicals about high school. His moment was cut short though, when Antu opened the door. “Dude, where’s the food?” he said.
“Shit, sorry. I’ll go get it right now,” Joost said while taking out his wallet.
Antu looked to his side and saw his new neighbor walking towards the elevator. He immediately connected the dots. “Bro, don’t tell me you managed to talk to her,” he questioned, but by the way Joost was smiling, he already got his answer. “Please tell me your secret, i’m being dead ass,” Antu said.
From the moment that left Antu’s mouth, Joost wanted to gate keep. He didn’t want to tell him that (Y/N) doesn’t speak Dutch she he bullshitted, “You just got to have personality to pull someone like her.”
Anti rolled his eye, “Alright calm down, buddy. I will say you are lucky though. i’ve seen men basically line up outside to see her go out because she’s always going out. Didn’t think she’d talk to a boy white as you.”
“Okay, fuck you.” Joost replied. He was shocked by what Antu said though. Having men line up for a woman who is new to the country is crazy.
“Dude, she’s basically the street sensation. You are extremely lucky to even talk to her. I’ve seen her ignore so many people. Don’t know how you did it,” Antu commented before closing the door to his apartment.
Whatever spell (Y/N) put on Joost, it was working hard. he wanted to know more about her. Where she was from, who she was, but he needed to wait. He would wait until his death to know about her. He couldn’t wait to see more of her. This was the first woman to ever make him desperate for more and it wasn’t driven by lust.
˖◛. *. ⋆ Vanilla Speaks
this was a little something... where my Latina Joost Klein bitches at
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Heartbroken; Human Alastor x Fem reader
ask: Hi, Could you do a Human Alastor x Reader, where Reader is Alastor’s childhood friend. Reader has always wanted to ask Alastor out. The day they finally mustered the courage, they heard Alastor accepting someone else’s confession. Reader is heartbroken? - @cartoonykat
tags: one sided love, fem reader, swearing, reader being heartbroken?? Childhood friends, short oneshot, not proof read, no mentions of y/n
word count: 0.7k
You were so little when your mother decided to introduce yourself to Alastor, your new neighbour. He was just the bestest friend of bestfriends to you! And looking back he was such a sweet child.
You and him would always play tag and hide and seek in the forest near the bayou. Of course, you'd always win since you were the best at these games, though you didn't know that your little friend pitied you and had let you win every single time.
You were always invited to his house for dinner that his mother made, and you had to admit that his mother's cooking was delicious.
When you grew a little older you started developing a crush on Alastor, admiring him and every little thing that he made. Noticing how his rounded, black glasses are adorable and how his brownish hair shined in the sunlight.
To your dismay you didn't have the guts to ask him out, yet. Thinking that you were too young for such things, you were just teenagers!! However looking back you realized that you made a horrible mistake.
Cleaning a glass behind the counter, you were met with the familiar "Ding!!" which signalled that someone just walked through the door. Looking up, you lightened up and quickly fixed your posture.
"Good morning, Alastor. Why so early?" You asked your childhood friend. He never came here at such an early hour. The Cafe was opening at eight am and it was only nine. That little voice in your head told you that maybe he was here specifically to see you but your brain told you to not get too excited.
"I just had some free time on me so I told myself why not to stand by?" The brunette responded, ordering his usual coffee. Pheraps you had a chance? You thought making his order before giving him to him.
As you saw him sit down at one of the stalls your mind started to wander to the plans you had today. You memorised Alastor's schedual, knowing what time he starts and ends his shift at the radio station. That's why you were surprised to see him walking in at such a early hour.
Today is the day, you finally got the courage to ask Alastor out. You were a tad bit nervous but your confidence and determination was high. Now you just had to wait till you get off work, grab your things and meet Alastor at his house.
The time soon arrived, for this occasion you wore a gorgeous red dress, nothing too much but just to show that you were serious about things.
Holding the present with your sweaty palms you stepped on the porch of Alastor's house. Hand up, just about to knock but your nervousness started to kick in. Is this really the time? Pheraps you should wait a tiny bit more?
No! You had to do it, now. Just as you were about to knock you heard 2 voices coming from the inside. A more masculine one and a femine one? This surely wasn't his mothers voice. Despite knowing that's wrong you decided to listen. Moving next to the open window with curtains open you were met with..
What? OH.. oh..
A loud gasp left your lips as you dropped your gift to the ground. Why? You could feel the warm tears streaming down your face as you backed away from the window.
Turning on your feet you ran away not wanting to face him, no.. At least not for now.
(a/n) this sucks and i completely forgot about this ask. Im so sorry!! I wanted for this to be longer but after it deleted itself the first time I wrote it I said fuck it and didn't had the motivation to write it again. But I hope this wasn't too bad lol
#Alastor x reader#Alastor#X reader#Hazbin hotel x reader#Hazbin hotel#human alastor x reader#Human Alastor#hazbin hotel#alastor x reader#hazbin hotel x reader#alastor#alastor the radio demon#hazbin hotel alastor#human alastor#alastor x you#human! alastor x reader#alastor x y/n
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Reo and Isagi: An Intriguing Line Between Rivalry and Camaraderie
I was in the middle of doing something when I've received a notification from one of my long lost readers who decided to pop up into one of my stories again and left a feedback.
To my pleasant surprise it's one of ages ago finished fics of mine from this fandom. It's finished a long time ago and seeing someone reading it and leaving a review makes me think of these two characters again that fascinated me when I was starting to delve more into this franchise:
Reo and Isagi.
I remembered back then on how I was solely focused on Chigiri's character when I was reading the manga and watching the anime because of how mysterious he was and how he got one of the most enthralling yet tragic backstory in the franchise. But my attention was caught between these two during the second selection because probably it's one of the most dramatic things I've seen in the series. A lot of things had been happening in that period that's probably you can see in a normal conflicts of teenage boys.
I do admit at first that I didn't have any favorable impression of Reo and Nagi because of how arrogant they are and so full of themselves. I guess that's the quirks of being a naturally skilled and talented person. But anyway, the characterizations of these characters are being driven and push over the edge during the second selection. Seeing Reo displayed a multitude of warring emotions and thoughts when Nagi left to join Isagi's team is an interesting concept.
Because you have here is a rich, confident, smart kid who always makes strategic decisions in life except for his treasured friend and he loses his rationality and a storm of emotions has influenced his actions mostly throughout the second selection.
He was brooding and he's a lot more introspective in that period which is fascinating because we were given by the author another side of him which is in stark contrast to his usual affable and charismatic facade with other people.
A lot of things had been bothering him to say the least. But the highlight of his character was how he was conflicted with everything. He was angry with Nagi for leaving him. He developed a misplaced anger towards Isagi because he blamed him for splitting them apart. But most of all he was angry with himself for being weak and was always wondering if he wasn't weak then Nagi wouldn't leave him.
The way that the author had displayed his vulnerability makes him one of the most intriguing character because of how "human" he was. His brooding era became a running joke to the fandom when in reality his reaction is the usual reaction of a teenage, highschool person who felt betrayed by their friend leaving him for another person without any preamble or whatsoever.
The conversation between him and Isagi in the monitor room during chapter 96 has got to be one of the most memorable to me because of how sincere and honest it was but at the same time in the end you were left there wondering if they become friends at that point because as a reader you can't pinpoint it was.
They both have trouble picking a team which opened a can of worms between the two of them and how Reo was serenely downcast in his admission if he can still play alongside Nagi with him because he was getting further away from him in skills and talent inside the program. It was also interesting to note of Isagi's reaction towards it, of how he came to an understanding of him as a person and how he'd come to light with his own predicament and even thanking him in the end.
It was a simple but compelling scene between the two of them because of how it drives their character more towards the realization of each other's motivations and purpose in the program.
But the ambiguity of their relationship remains to be seen because you cannot categorized them as being too close with each other unlike with their other friends such as with Chigiri, Bachira Kunigami, Nagi etc.
And that's what's fascinating about these two.
They still oscillate between the lines of rivalry and camaraderie even now in the recent arc of the franchise.
It was painted in a subtle manner. It's not an overt rivalry or any sort of relationship that the reader can categorized easily and that's what it becomes an interest to a writer like me to explore it a bit more vividly during my early heydays in being an active writer between these two characters.
I remembered this reader asking me if I'm going to write for these two again and who knows?
Only time can tell if my Muse will be inspired enough to go back to their fascinating relationship with each other.
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A MASTERLIST OF ALL THE BOOKS I COULD FIND IN TIM'S BOOKSHELVES
As someone who basically sees Tim Laughlin as my own version of Jesus Christ (I kind of wish I was lying but I have a 'beyond measure' tattoo branding my skin so perhaps I'm entirely serious), I simply needed to know what was on those shelves of his. And this was a hard task to achieve, believe me... but I got much farther than I initially thought I would.
(I've got so much to say about all of these books and how they might string together to create a deeper understanding of Tim as a character but I won't go into it here... maybe in a future post or video essay, who knows).
If you wish to help a girl out and attempt to figure out any of the other books I simply can not crack no matter how I look at the screenshots and mess with the adjustments... here's a folder full of 2k sized screenshots of those shelves.
Before I list the books one by one, I want to make a couple observations:
1) Almost all of the books I was able to pinpoint are non-fiction. The ones that aren't are children's books.
2) Topically, we see an interdisciplinary interest in:
History: from a book on a king in 4BC, to a survey of landholding in England in the 11th century.
Somewhat current historical events: books on World War I and II.
Western Philosophers: specially from the 16th to the 18th century.
Aesthetics: there's at least 2 books on the subject matter, but I couldn't find the second one, sadly.
Spirituality: not only christian/catholic; some of these books touch on Eastern practices such as Buddhism and Hinduism.
Fairy tales / children's books.
Psychology: specially in regards to mysticism and sexuality.
Science and scientific discovery/research.
3) A lot of the history, current events, and spirituality books are autobiographies/memoirs.
4) A lot of books (specially those on sciences and philosophy) tend to be more so anthologies or overviews on a subject matter rather than a book written by one specific author on one very concrete topic.
Overall, this all reflects very well an idea Jonathan Bailey himself expressed in a brilliant interview you can watch here if you haven't yet:
"Tim has buddhist flags in his 1980s flat in San Francisco, he has crystals, he is someone who is always seeking other ways to understand human experience. Which is probably tiring for him. Throughout the decades, he sort of appears as completely different people. At the crux of it there's this extreme grinding, contrasting, aggressive duality between feeling lovable and not feeling lovable. There's such shame in Tim. But it's the push and the pull which keeps him alive.”
This desire to understand human psychology, spirituality, and the ways of the universe through as many diverse lenses as possible, as well as a predilection for non-fiction, expresses very much to me that insatiable thirst for truth that defines his character so strongly.
OKAY, THAT BEING SAID. Here's the list in chronological order of publication.
PS. if you decided to click on any of the following titles it'd definitely not take you to a google drive link of the pdf file where you could download and read these books for yourself. Because that would be illegal and wrong.
Journeys through Bookland by Charles H. Sylvester (1901?) (1922 Edition)
I don't know which specific volume he owns, sorry, I tried my best but the number is not discernible (hell, the title barely is). If anyone wants the download link to these hmu because I'm not about to individually download all 10 right now.
10 volumes of poems, myths, Bible stories, fairy tales, and excerpts from children's novels, as well as a guide to the series. It has been lauded as ‘a new and original plan for reading, applied to the world’s best literature for children.’
Pilgrimage by Graham Seton Hutchison (1936)
This book provides a view of the battlefields of WW I through the eyes of the average fighting man.
One curious thing about this book is that it's author, a British First World War army officer and military theorist, went on to become a fascist activist later in his life. Straight from Wikipedia:
"Seton Hutchison became a celebrated figure in military circles for his tactical innovations during the First World War but would later become associated with a series of fringe fascist movements which failed to capture much support even by the standards of the far right in Britain in the interbellum period." He made a contribution to First World War fiction with his espionage novel, The W Plan."
The Seven Storey Mountain by Thomas Merton (1948)
The Seven Storey Mountain tells of the growing restlessness of a brilliant and passionate young man, who at the age of twenty-six, takes vows in one of the most demanding Catholic orders—the Trappist monks. At the Abbey of Gethsemani, "the four walls of my new freedom," Thomas Merton struggles to withdraw from the world, but only after he has fully immersed himself in it. At the abbey, he wrote this extraordinary testament, a unique spiritual autobiography that has been recognized as one of the most influential religious works of our time. Translated into more than twenty languages, it has touched millions of lives.
This book requires no introduction. It's the one he keeps the Fire Island's postcard in and the one we see him re-reading in episode 8 after Hawk brings it to the hospital with him at the end of episode 7.
Just a little detail I noticed:
Apparently he liked the book so much he visited Gethsemani, which was the home of its author all the way up till 1968.
For all we know, he might have even met its author!
Sexual Behavior in the Human Male by Alfred Charles Kinsey, Wardell B. Pomeroy (1948)
When published in 1948 this volume encountered a storm of condemnation and acclaim. It is, however, a milestone on the path toward a scientific approach to the understanding of human sexual behavior. Dr. Alfred C. Kinsey and his fellow researchers sought to accumulate an objective body of facts regarding sex. They employed first hand interviews to gather this data. This volume is based upon histories of approximately 5,300 males which were collected during a fifteen year period. This text describes the methodology, sampling, coding, interviewing, statistical analyses, and then examines factors and sources of sexual outlet.
Yes, Charles Kinsey is indeed behind the Kinsey scale that has done so much for the LGBTQ+ community.
Their Finest Hour (1949), The Grand Alliance (1950), and Closing the Ring (1951) by Winston Churchill
Winston Churchill's six-volume history of the cataclysm that swept the world remains the definitive history of the Second World War. Lucid, dramatic, remarkable both for its breadth and sweep and for its sense of personal involvement, it is universally acknowledged as a magnificent reconstruction and is an enduring, compelling work that led to his being awarded the Nobel Prize for literature in 1953.
The European Philosophers from Descartes to Nietzsche by Monroe C. Beardsley (1960)
In so far as we reflect upon ourselves and our world, and what we are doing in it, says the editor of this anthology, we are all philosophers. And therefore we are very much concerned with what the twelve men represented in this book--the major philosophers on the Continent of Europe--have to say to us, to help us build our own philosophy, to think things out in our own way. For the issues that we face today are partly determined by the work of thinkers of earlier generations, and no other time is more important to the development of Western thought than is the 250-year period covered by this anthology.
Monroe. C. Beardsley, Professor of Philosophy at Swarthmore College, has chosen major works, or large selections from them, by each man, with supplementary passages to amplify or clarify important points. These include: Descartes - Discourse on Method (Descartes), Thoughts (Pascal), The Nature of Evil (Spinoza), The Relation Between Soul and Body (Leibniz), The Social Construct (Rousseau), Critique of Pure Reason (Kant), The Vocation of Man (Fichte), Introducciton to the Philosophy of History (Hegel), The World as Will and Idea (Schopenhauer), A General View of Positivism (Comte), The Analysis of Sensations and the Relation of the Physical to the Psychical (Mach), Beyond Good and Evil (Nietzsche).
The New Intelligent Man's Guide to Science by Isaac Asimov (1965)
Asimov tells the stories behind the science: the men and women who made the important discoveries and how they did it. Ranging from Galilei, Achimedes, Newton and Einstein, he takes the most complex concepts and explains it in such a way that a first-time reader on the subject feels confident on his/her understanding.
Assists today's readers in keeping abreast of all recent discoveries and advances in physics, the biological sciences, astronomy, computer technology, artificial intelligence, robotics, and other sciences.
The Heavenly City of the 18th Philosophers by Carl L. Becker (1932) (1962 reprint)
Here a distinguished American historian challenges the belief that the eighteenth century was essentially modern in its temper. In crystalline prose Carl Becker demonstrates that the period commonly described as the Age of Reason was, in fact, very far from that; that Voltaire, Hume, Diderot, and Locke were living in a medieval world, and that these philosophers “demolished the Heavenly City of St. Augustine only to rebuild it with more up-to-date materials.” In a new foreword, Johnson Kent Wright looks at the book’s continuing relevance within the context of current discussion about the Enlightenment.
I find the particular choice of adding this book very curious and on brand, since it explores the idea that philosophers of the Enlightenment very much resembled religious dogma/faith in their structure and purpose. Just... A+ of the props department to not just add any kind of book on philosophy anthology.
Herod The Great by Michael Grant (1971)
The Herod of popular tradition is the tyrannical King of Judaea who ordered the Massacre of the Innocents and died a terrible death in 4 BC as the judgment of God. But this biography paints a much more complex picture of this contemporary of Mark Antony, Cleopatra, and the Emperor Augustus. Herod devoted his life to the task of keeping the Jews prosperous and racially intact. To judge by the two disastrous Jewish rebellions that occurred within a hundred and fifty years of his death -- those the Jews called the First and Second Roman Wars -- he was not, in the long run, completely successful. For forty years Herod walked the most precarious of political tightropes. For he had to be enough of a Jew to retain control of his Jewish subjects, and enough of a pro-Roman to preserve the confidence of Rome, within whose territory his kingdom fell. For more than a quarter of a century he was one of the chief bulwarks of Augustus' empire in the east. He made Judaea a large and prosperous country. He founded cities and built public works on a scale never seen before: of these, recently excavated Masada is a spectacular example. And he did all this in spite of a continuous undercurrent of protest and underground resistance. The numerous illustrations presents portraits and coins, buildings and articles of everyday use, landscapes and fortresses, and subsequent generations' interpretations of the more famous events, actual and mythical, of Herod's career.
Readings in the Philosophy of Art and Aesthetics compiled by Milton Charles Nahm (1975)
A college level comprehensive anthology of essays written on the arts and the field of aesthetic philosophy.
The Mustard Seed: Discourses on the Sayings of Jesus Taken from the Gospel According to Thomas by Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh (1975)
This timely book explores the wisdom of the Gnostic Jesus, who challenges our preconceptions about the world and ourselves. Based on the Gospel of Thomas, the book recounts the missing years in Jesus’ life and his time in Egypt and India, learning from Egyptian secret societies, then Buddhist schools, then Hindu Vedanta. Each of Jesus' original sayings is the "seed" for a chapter of the book; each examines one aspect of life — birth, death, love, fear, anger, and more — counterpointed by Osho’s penetrating comments and responses to questions from his audience.
(You don't know how fulfilling it was to find some of these books and just sit there like "oh my god, yessss, he'd SO read that".)
A Third Testament by Malcolm Muggeridge (1976)
A modern pilgrim explores the spiritual wanderings of Augustine, Pascal, Blake, Kierkegaard, Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, and Bonhoeffer. A Third Testament brings to life seven men whose names are familiar enough, but whose iconoclastic spiritual wanderings make for unforgettable reading. Muggeridge's concise biographies are an accessible and manageable introduction to these spiritual giants who carried on the testament to the reality of God begun in the Old and New Testaments.
- St. Augustine, a headstrong young hedonist and speechwriter who turned his back on money and prestige in order to serve Christ
- Blaise Pascal, a brilliant mathematician who pursued scientific knowledge but warned people against thinking they could live without God
- William Blake, a magnificent artist-poet who pled passionately for the life of the spirit and warned of the blight that materialism would usher in
- Soren Kierkegaard, a renegade philosopher who spent most of his life at odds with the church, and insisted that every person must find his own way to God
- Fyodor Dostoevsky, a debt-ridden writer and sometime prisoner who found, in the midst of squalor and political turmoil, the still small voice of God
- Leo Tolstoy, a grand old novelist who swung between idealism and depression, loneliness and fame and a duel awareness of his sinfulness and God s grace
- Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a pastor whose writings and agonized involvement in a plot to kill Hitler cost him his life, but continue to inspire millions
Portraits: The photography of Carl Van Vechten (1978)
Can't find a file but you can borrow it from archive.com in the link provided.
During his career as a photographer, Carl Van Vechten’s subjects, many of whom were his friends and social acquaintances, included dancers, actors, writers, artists, activists, singers, costumiers, photographers, social critics, educators, journalists, and aesthetes. [...] As a promoter of literary talent and a critic of dance, theater, and opera, Carl Van Vechten was as interested in the cultural margin as he was in the day’s most acclaimed and successful people. His diverse subjects give a sense of both Carl Van Vechten’s interests and his considerable role in defining the cultural landscape of the twentieth century; among his many sitters one finds the leading lights of the Harlem Renaissance, the premier actors and writers of the American stage, the world’s greatest opera stars and ballerinas, the most important and influential writers of the day, among many others.
Report of the Shroud of Turin by John H Heller (1983)
Heller, while a man of science, was nevertheless a devout man (Southern Baptist). He viewed his task concerning The Shroud with great scepticism; there have been far too many hoaxes in the world of religion. The book describes in great detail the events leading up to the team's conviction that the Shroud was genuine; last - not least - being Heller and Adler's verification of "heme" (blood) and the inexplicable "burned image" of the crucified man. Although carbon dating indicates that the image is not 2000 years old and that the cloth is from the Middle Ages, there is not enough evidence to disprove Heller's assertion that the Shroud is indeed genuine.
Context for those who may not know (though I doubt it's necessary): The shroud of Turin "is a length of linen cloth that bears a faint image of the front and back of a man. It has been venerated for centuries, especially by members of the Catholic Church, as the actual burial shroud used to wrap the body of Jesus of Nazareth after his crucifixion, and upon which Jesus's bodily image is miraculously imprinted."
It is a very controversial subject matter and I definitely don't know that from going to an Opus Dei school since the day I was born till the day I graduated high school.
Mysticism, Psychology and Oedipus by Israel Regardie (1985)
I've tried my hardest but despite many Israel Regardie books being on the world wide web, I can't find a copy of this specific one.
Mysticism, Psychology and Oedipus, from the Small Gems series is one of these mysterious alchemys which Regardie and Spiegelman crafted for the serious student of mysticism. Mysticism, Psychology and Oedipus by Dr. Israel Regardie and his friend, world renowned Jungian Psychologist, J. Marvin Spiegelman, Ph.D. was created to reach the serious student at the intersecting paths of magic, mysticism and psychology. While each area of study overlaps they also maintain their own individual paths of truth. One of Regardie’s greatest gifts was his rare ability to combine these difficult and diverse subjects and make them understandable.
Domesday Book Through Nine Centuries by Elizabeth M. Hallam (1986)
In 1086 a great survey of landholding in England was carried out on the orders of William the Conqueror, and its results were recorded in the two volumes, which, within less than a century, were to acquire the name of Domesday, or the Book of Judgment 'because its decisions, like those of the last Judgment, are unalterable'. This detailed survey of the kingdom, unprecedented at that time in its scope, gives us an extraordinarily vivid impression of the life of the eleventh century.
The following two are a fuck up on the props department part because they were published after 1987 but we'll forgive them because they were not expecting for me to do all this to figure out the titles of these books, I'm sure:
The One Who Set Out to Study Fear by Peter Redgrove (1989)
This book barely exists physically, rest assured it does not exist online... LOL.
The author of The Wise Wound presents here a re-telling of Grimm's famous fairy tales, written in a manner and spirit more suited to the present day. Each story is rooted in the original, but cast in an energetic style that is both disrespectful and humorous.
Essential Papers on Masochism by Margaret Ann Fitzpatrick Hanly (1995)
The contested psychoanalytic concept of masochism has served to open up pathways into less-explored regions of the human mind and behavior. Here, rituals of pain and sexual abusiveness prevail, and sometimes gruesome details of unconscious fantasies are constructed out of psychological pain, desperate need, and sexually excited, self- destructive violence.
In this significant addition to the "Essential Papers in Psychoanalysis" series, Margaret Ann Fitzpatrick Hanly presents an anthology of the most outstanding writings in the psychoanalytic study of masochism. In bringing these essays together, Dr. Fitzpatrick Hanly expertly combines classic and contemporary theories by the most respected scholars in the field to create a varied and integrated volume.
This collection features papers by S. Nacht, R. Loewenstein, Victor Smirnoff, Sigmund Freud, Jacques Laplanche, Robert Bak, Leonard Shengold, K. Novick, J. Novick, S. Coen, Margaret Brenman, Esther Menaker, S. Lorand, M. Balint, Bernhard Berliner, Charles Brenner, Helene Deutsch, Annie Reich, Marie Bonaparte, Jessica Benjamin, S.L. Olinick, Arnold Modell, Betty Joseph, and Janine Chasseguet-Smirgel.
Let's not forget another book we know has been present in his shelves at some point:
Look Homeward, Angel by Thomas Wolfe (1929)
It is Wolfe's first novel, and is considered a highly autobiographical American coming-of-age story. The character of Eugene Gant is generally believed to be a depiction of Wolfe himself. The novel briefly recounts Eugene's father's early life, but primarily covers the span of time from Eugene's birth in 1900 to his definitive departure from home at the age of 19. The setting is a fictionalization of his home town of Asheville, North Carolina, called Altamont in the novel.
And Ron Nyswaner mentioned in a podcast (might be this one? I'm not sure) that he scrapped from the script a line where Tim recommends this poem at some point:
He specially emphasized the line "If equal affection cannot be, Let the more loving one be me".
And lastly, if anyone wanted to know:
His copy of the bible is the Revised Standard Version by Thomas Nelson from either 1952 or 1953.
Because why the hell not figure out what specific translation of the holy bible a fictional character was basing his beliefs on — as if the set designers cared nearly as much as I do.
#fellow travelers#fellow travelers meta#tim laughlin#fellowtravelersedit#i know it doesnt precisely fit the tag but hey.. theres a gif right there#this is such a jobless thread... but i AM jobless
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new update - 'Thank You for the Venom', chapter 10 🎸 🗡️
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten Summary
Adam loses his patience with Lute when she won't let him take care of her without a fight.
Who is here for some close proximityyyyyyy?! 🙋🏼♀️
All I'm going to say is that the next few chapters are going to be fun. SO much fun. Buckle up, buttercups!
Thanks @branded-rose for beta-ing as always, you wonderful human <3
Neither Adam or Lute said anything on the way to his apartment.
Lute had decided, for fucking once, that she didn’t feel up to talking or backchatting him and instead spent the trek back sulking in his arms, refusing to look at him.
If he was being honest, the silence was more than welcomed. It gave Adam time to think, to form a game plan for the week ahead. His objective? To not fuck his lieutenant while she recovered from her injury. As tempting as it was, he couldn’t risk her reinjuring herself and taking more time off training.
Considering he had a meeting with Sera coming up, he needed Lute to heal up fast, lest he be subjected to a lecture on how he wasn’t taking this seriously enough, why was his lieutenant always getting injured under his watch, blah, blah-fucking-blah.
Though, now that he came to think of it, he was the guy who literally invented sex. Surely he could come up with some creative positions so as to not do further damage to her ankle.
He found himself lost in his thoughts as they approached his front door, trying to think of the most stationary way to bury himself inside her when a familiar, irritating voice quickly brought him back to reality.
“Sir? Sir. Are you even listening to me?”
Adam glanced down at Lute, who was waving a hand in front of his face, looking wildly unimpressed.
“Course I was,” he said defensively, lying through his teeth. He had absolutely no idea what she’d said - and frankly, couldn’t care, considering he’d been thoroughly enjoying the visuals that accompanied his dirty thoughts.
“Then what was I talking about?” She narrowed her eyes at him, and he resisted the urge to roll his own in response.
“Uhh… you were complaining about something or other? Hold up - could you reach into my pocket and grab my key for me?”
What a save.
Lute scowled at him, unimpressed. “A ‘please’ wouldn’t hurt, you know.”
Adam resisted the urge to drop her on the floor for being a colossal pain in his ass. Injury be damned, she was already getting on his nerves and they hadn’t even walked through the front door yet.
It was going to be a long ass week together, and he wasn’t sure which one of them would kill the other first.
“Fucking hell - fine. Grab the key from my pocket and unlock the front door, so we can hurry the fuck up and get inside, please?”
Smiling smugly, she reached her hand into his pocket, digging around for his key, her fingers roughly hitting the front of his hip and thigh through the fabric of his robe. “Was that so hard, sir?”
“If you keep digging around like that babe, you’ll find something else in there that’s hard.”
“Ugh. You disgust me.” She threw him the flattest look, producing the key from his pocket and unceremoniously shoving it into the keyhole.
When they stepped through the front door, Adam felt the slightest pang of shame at not cleaning up after himself from the night before. Empty wine bottles and takeout containers littered his counter, while there was no way Lute’s keen eye would miss the hot pink bra draped lazily over the back of his armchair.
Layla had forgotten to pick up after herself again.
“Really?” she asked dryly, raising a brow at him as he carried her over to his couch. “I’m surprised you don’t have a lost and found box permanently stationed outside your front door.”
“You know Lute, that’s the most intelligent thing that I think has ever come out of your mouth,” he mused, setting her down carefully so as not to bump her injured leg. “I’ll be right back.”
He grabbed the bra off the back of his chair and wandered into his bedroom, quickly grabbing his phone to text Layla.
Adam: You forgot your bra. Again.
As expected, considering Layla never got off her phone, it vibrated in his hand almost instantly.
Layla: Did your pretty little patient notice?
Adam: Yes.
Layla: She’d look good in it, too. Don’t you think?
Adam: Not helping.
Layla: I know. Good luck.
Snorting, he pocketed his phone again. Layla had picked up on the tension between him and Lute at the bar a couple of months go, before he’d followed her outside. She’d nagged him about it for fucking weeks, until a moment where she quite literally had him by the balls and he relented, admitting that there had been something between them, but nothing more had happened.
He didn’t need the truth spreading around the barracks like wildfire, considering how fucking chatty the girls were. Still, he was thankful that Layla seemed to have kept her mouth shut, even though she nagged him almost daily about Lute.
As he reminded himself to change his sheets later, he drew on the uncomfortable conversation he’d had with Layla the night before in his bed.
~
“Why do you even fucking care?” Adam asked, rolling over to look at her. “I wouldn’t have picked you to be the jealous type.”
“That’s because I’m not,” Layla said simply as she sat up, letting the duvet fall, exposing her ample chest as she inspected a strand of her hair. “Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy our hookups because they scratch an itch, so to speak, but emotionally you’re kind of a giant walking red flag.”
“Gee, thanks,” he said bitterly. “Way to make a guy feel good about himself.”
“Oh, please, Adam,” she snorted. “That’s not what I’m here for. You want someone to stroke your ego? Get a girlfriend. Or, man up and do something about your little crush on Lute.”
“I’ll give you something you can stroke,” he said in a low voice, reaching over to cup one of her breasts, massaging it softly, choosing to ignore her dig at him as he kneaded it softly.
She glanced at his hand, her expression bored, then shook her head. “Nah. I’m good.” Stretching, she slid out of his bed and began getting dressed.
“Where are you going?”
“Home. I told you - I had an itch, you scratched it. Now I’m done.”She leaned both arms on the bed, staring Adam down with her large golden eyes, her expression unusually firm.
“Stop being such a pussy Adam, and just shoot your shot,” she said sternly. “I have a feeling that you’ll be a happier man for it.”
“I have no fucking idea what you’re on about.”
“That’s your problem then, not mine.”
With that, she sashayed out of his room, flicking her hair over her shoulder.
~
Shoving the memory to the back of his mind, not wanting to think about it any further, Adam threw the bra into his closet before grabbing two pillows off his bed and trudging back out into his living room.
Lute’s thumbs were moving swiftly across her phone screen as she typed furiously, her eyes unmoving. If she noticed Adam come back into the room, she didn’t acknowledge him.
“Who are you texting?”
She startled slightly, glaring at him as he took a seat next to her on the couch. “Vaggie. I’m telling her what I’ll need for the next week.”
“Anything special I should know about?”
Her cheeks flushed and she narrowed her eyes further at him. “No.”
“That’s a lie if I ever fucking heard one. Here - hold this,” he shoved a pillow at her, knocking her phone out of her hands, causing it to bounce away from her and land close to her feet. Grabbing it to pass back to her, he snuck a quick look at her screen.
Vaggie: You sure you’re okay? You could have stayed with me.
Lute: You’d get sick of me.
Vaggie: That’s a lie.
Lute: Plus, he had a point. His place is bigger than our apartments.
Vaggie: I guess. If you need to tap out at any time though, call me. What do you need?
Lute: I’ll be alright. Just the usual stuff. Clothes and toiletries. Also my protein powder and shaker. And a book or two. Third drawer in the kitchen. You know the type.
Vaggie: Unusual hiding spot for a book, but okay.
“Why do you keep your books in the kitchen drawer?” Adam asked, extending his arm so Lute could take her phone. “That’s a fucking weird spot. Most normal people keep theirs on a bookshelf.”
“None of your fucking business,” she snapped, snatching her phone back and locking it. “Next time, don’t read my messages, creep.”
“Oh, calm your tits, it wasn’t like you had anything interesting to say,” he huffed, laying the remaining pillow across the top of his thighs. “Alright, I’m about to take a look at your leg and see how bad the damage is. I’d suggest biting into that pillow while I do it.”
“Why on earth would I need to bite into a pillow?”
Adam sighed and scratched behind his neck, not caring for her attitude. “Because, and I hate to break this to you, babe, but it’s not going to tickle when I take your shoe off. In fact, it’s going to hurt like hell. So, instead of you yelling at the top of your lungs and my neighbours get pissed off that they can hear someone screaming in here again, just bite into the fucking pillow, would you?”
“Do you make screaming loud enough to piss your neighbours off a regular habit?” she asked, cocking a brow at him. He snorted and gently lifted her legs, scooting closer to her so that he could place them on top of the pillow on his lap.
“It’s not me they’re complaining about, babe.”
She shot him a withering look and he snickered, shaking his head. “You are so easy to rile up, Dangertits.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Not gonna happen. Anyway, get ready because I’m about to take your shoe off and it’s gonna hurt.” He started undoing the laces on her trainer, taking care not to knock her foot.
“Somehow, I think I’ll manage,” she muttered, “I don’t see why you’re making such a big deal about this. It’s a fucking ankle sprain, but you’re making out like I’ve lost a goddamn limb or something”
He closed his eyes, trying to find the inner strength to deal with her shitty attitude. He wasn’t the most patient man at the best of times, but she was really testing him now.
“Lute,” he ground out through gritted teeth, “shut the fuck up and stop being such a brat.”
She puffed her cheeks and crossed her arms looking away from him. “I am not being a brat.”
“You fucking are. You’re pouting at me again.”
“I am not,” she argued, aiming a swift kick at him with her good leg. He caught it mid-air before it connected with his shoulder, glowering at her.
“If you don’t shut your mouth,” he growled, “I’m going to shut it for you.”
“Oooh, I’m so scared,” she said sardonically, her face twisting into a mock fearful expression. “What are you going to do to me?”
“Don’t push your fucking luck with me.” He leaned over, their chests just touching as he grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him, her blazing golden eyes meeting the yellow of his mask. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m trying to help you here, not make things worse. Stop running your fucking mouth and start listening to me. That’s an order. Do you fucking understand me, Lieutenant?”
Her lip curled into a snarl. “I didn’t ask you to take care of me, sir.”
“I couldn’t really give a shit what you asked for,” he said coolly, letting go of her face roughly and resuming his original position on the couch. “Shoe’s coming off now, by the way. Get ready - or not, I’m not bothered either way.”
He gripped the heel of her trainer and tugged downwars, trying not to move her actual foot as much as possible. Lute hissed, then let out a cry of pain as he gently wiggled the shoe in order to ease it off her swollen foot.
“That hurts!” she yelled, throwing her head back against the armrest of the couch.
“Bite the goddamn pillow, Lute, or my neighbours will think I’m murdering someone.”
“It’s Heaven, nobody gets murdered here,” she growled.
“Well, it’s either that or they’ll think you’re an animal and into some kinky shit, so if you want them to keep thinking that, go ahead and be my guest. I don’t care.”
He was relieved to see her finally press the pillow into her face, her scream muffled as he finally managed to get her shoe and sock off.
Adam had seen his fair share of soft tissue injuries during his time as Commander of the Exorcist army - severe bruising, strains and sprains were commonplace, especially during training sessions. In fact, they probably made up at least half of the incident reports he had to fill out. But, in classic Lute fashion, she had managed to spectacularly outdo everybody else, sporting the most brilliant ankle sprain he had ever seen.
Her skin was no longer pale, instead now heavily bruised with patches of vibrant oranges and yellows that spread from the tips of her toes right up to past the hem of her leggings, concentrated mostly around her ankle - which had turned a particularly nasty shade of vermillion. The afflicted area had also swelled to twice its normal size, looking unnatural next to her muscular right leg.
“Fucking hell,” he muttered, gently running his fingers over her swollen skin. “Not sure if I should congratulate you on doing such a great job, or be pissed that you’re going to be out of action for a while.”
When she didn’t respond, he glanced up at her and was surprised to find that tears had formed in the corners of her eyes.
“It’s not that bad,” he backtracked, feeling uncomfortable at her sudden shift in demeanour. Shit, he was hopeless when it came to women crying in front of him, he never had any idea what to do, and no matter what he said, he tended to just make it worse. “A week off work, at the most.”
She looked away, and he pretended not to notice as she quickly wiped her eyes. Not that she deserved it for being such a pain in the ass earlier. Still, he couldn’t help but feel the tiniest bit sorry for her. Her misery almost made her seem normal.
“I don’t want to take a week off work,” she said thickly. “We’ve got too much to do. And - and you have a meeting with Sera and -”
Adam cut her off, waving his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about my meeting with Sare-bear, she doesn’t have to know everything that goes on at training. But, Lute, just listen,” he let one of his hands come to rest on her knee in a comforting gesture.
“You need to swallow your fucking pride and do as I say, alright? I swear I’m not trying to be a dick, I’m trying to help you get back to normal as soon as possible. Believe it or not, you’re not invincible, but if you just rest, you’ll heal quicker. Okay? So, just…fucking chill.”
He gave her knee a reassuring pat, and as she looked up at him through her damp lashes, he felt oddly compelled to comfort her further. He wasn’t entirely sure where the feeling came from, or what it meant exactly, but all he knew was that he needed to show her that he cared. So he lifted the hand that was resting on her leg and grabbed one of her hands, squeezing it gently, his thumb rubbing over her knuckles.
He found himself studying how small her hands were, how if he held their hands up together, the tips of her fingers would barely reach past his palms. How could such tiny hands be responsible for spilling so much Sinner blood, year after year?
Lute cast her eyes downwards into her lap and nodded, resigned. “Okay,” she said quietly, her voice barely audible.
Adam breathed a sigh of relief and let his head fall backwards. “Finally, she listens to me,” he muttered to his ceiling. “It’s only taken God knows how fucking long.”
He managed to catch the pillow just before it hit him in the face.
***
Lute was on the verge of falling asleep when Vaggie turned up at Adam’s apartment, a large duffel bag slung over her shoulder and a scowl plastered on her face as he greeted her with an obnoxiously loud, “‘Sup, Vagasaurous!”
She couldn’t hear most of their conversation from her position on the couch due to the fact that they were speaking in hushed voices, but she was positive she heard Vaggie stage-whisper, “What do you mean she hasn’t had any fucking painkillers?” at one point.
If they spoke much after that, she had no recollection of it as she let her eyes rest, drifting off to sleep.
When she woke, she was surprised to feel something soft covering her bare shoulders. Opening her eyes, she found a blanket over her, considerately tucked neatly under her body. Vaggie must have come in and made sure she was warm, knowing Adam wouldn’t have the care factor to do so.
Sitting up, Lute hissed, grimacing as pain seared through her ankle, which was resting gently atop one of the pillows Adam had brought out from his bedroom. Another considerate gesture from Vaggie.
She really was such a good friend.
“Bout time you woke up.”
Her eyes darted around, finding Adam sitting at his counter flicking through something on his phone.
“How long was I asleep for?” she asked, drawing the blanket up under her chin. She didn’t love the idea of him being around her, awake, while she slept. What if she did something embarrassing, like snored, or drooled… or worse, talked in her sleep?
Given some of the… intense dreams she’d had over the past few months that may or may not have involved her boss, she reall, really hoped she didn’t sleeptalk.
Adam looked up from his phone as he set it on his counter, which was now rid of the rubbish that had been strewn across it when they first arrived at the apartment. At least he’d taken the liberty of cleaning up while she slept. “A couple hours? You were pretty out of it.”
“Really?”
“Oh, fuck yeah. Also, you have the funniest little snore. It’d almost be cute if it wasn’t coming from you.”
“I do not snore!” Lute cried indignantly, pulling the blanket tighter around herself.
He raised an eyebrow at her. “Babe. You snored. Besides, how would you know if you do or don’t? Anybody ever told you that you have?”
“No,” she admitted, deliberately choosing not to elaborate further - he didn’t need to know it was because she’d never slept next to anybody before. She’d never hear the end of it and besides, it was absolutely none of his business.
“Well, either this was something special you saved just for me, or all the men you’ve ever shared a bed with sleep like the dead.”
“Again, sir, it’s Heaven. Most people here sleep like the dead because they are dead.”
“Fuck, it was nice and peaceful while you were comatose,” Adam muttered under his breath, sliding off his stool, “even if you were snoring.”
Lute watched with mild interest as he opened kitchen cupboards, continuing to mutter to himself. It was odd seeing him in such a domesticated environment - given his status in Heaven as the First Man and how obnoxious he was, she’d expected him to live in a more luxurious, gaudy home. In reality, apart from an overly-large TV, and the fact that the footprint of his apartment was slightly larger than hers, his home wasn’t very impressive at all.
“What are you doing?” she asked as he made his way over to her and sat on the coffee table in front of her, holding a glass of water.
“Your little scissor-sister bestie chewed me out for not giving you these sooner, so hurry up and take them before she turns up at my door again.” He extended his hand, uncurling his fist to reveal two small blue pills. “They should stop the pain while you’re sitting still.”
“I’m not in pain,” Lute said quickly, eyeing the pills, “I’m fine.” She didn’t want him thinking she was weak enough to need medication. That would just be pathetic, especially for something as minor as a sprained ankle.
“Oh for fuck’s sake, did we or did we not just have a conversation about this?” Adam snapped, “take the fucking pills Lute, before I force them down your throat.”
Glaring at him, she snatched the pills from his outstretched hand, but before she could pull away his hand closed tightly over hers. He moved off the coffee table, kneeling in front of her, once again closing space between their bodies.
She glanced down at their hands, and noticed that he must have taken his gloves off while she was asleep, because they were bare. She’d seen him without them before, but he was close enough now that she couldn’t help but notice the sprinkling of fine ash-brown hair that crept up the back of his hand.
It was also warm, and strong. If it were anybody else holding her hand, she’d admit to liking how that felt. She kept that thought to herself.
“You,” he started, his voice now low and dangerous, “are really pissing me off now. Cut the bullshit, stop being a stubborn little bitch and let me take fucking care of you, alright?”
“I’m not weak,” she hissed, “I’m not some helpless little girl who needs saving.”
“Nobody said you were. Shut up and take the painkillers, Lute.” He let go of her hand and shook his head in frustration.
Scowling, she shoved the pills in her mouth and swallowed, grimacing at the taste as she struggled to get them down her throat. She held out her hand for the glass of water and Adam handed it to her unceremoniously.
Once she’d managed to chase the pills with the water, she thrust the glass back in his direction.
“Was that so hard?”
She sighed. “Yes actually, it was.”
“It would have been a fuckton easier if you’d just listened to me.”
“Where did you even get painkillers, anyway? It’s not like anybody here needs them.”
He snorted. “You think I’m going to smuggle hard liquor from Hell every year for our post-Extermination Day rager, and not be smart enough to also steal something to help with the hangover the next day?”
“Oh, I feel so honoured you gave me your special hangover pills.”
“So you fucking should be, I only get a few a year.”
She turned her head to gaze at him, still seated on the floor in front of her. He looked as tired as she felt. “Why are you so hellbent on doing this?”
“Doing what?”
“This. Making sure I’m alright. You don’t care about me.”
“Bullshit. I care about all my girls, Lute, and that includes you.” He scooted closer, so his side leaned against the couch, his body facing hers. “You just make my job more difficult because you’ve got more of a tendency to bite back than the others.”
Lute didn’t say anything, instead choosing to adjust the waistband of her leggings, which were starting to dig into her and get uncomfortable. She desperately needed a shower.
“You know what’s going to be difficult?” she groaned, realising another roadblock they’d have to tackle.
“What?”
She grimaced, not wanting to admit it out loud - but what choice did she have?
“Showering.”
Adam blinked at her, confused. “Oh, yeah we can do that. No biggie, I’ll just carry you in, you can do your thing and when you’re ready just call me and I’ll come get you. Easy as fuck.”
“Sir. That’s not going to work. How am I even supposed to stand in the shower, or get in and out?
He scratched the back of his neck, frowning. “Shit, I didn’t think of that. Unless…”
“I’m not showering with you,” Lute said quickly.
Adam snorted. “Babe, that is not where my mind was going, but now that you mention it, if you can put your big girl panties on and be an adult about this, it would be the easiest solution.”
She glared at him. “No, sir. What was your other plan?”
“I have a bath. It’s probably easier to get you in there.”
She swallowed, unconvinced. “I haven’t had a bath since -”
Adam held a hand up, silencing her. “Since I busted into your apartment. Yeah, yeah, I know, spare me the lecture. As far as I see this playing out Dangertits, you’ve got three options. One, take a bath. I help you in, get you settled, then come and get you when the time’s up. Easy. Two, we shower together. Not gonna lie, the thought of it excites me, but you’d have to keep your eyes closed the whole time, because this,” he tugged at the bottom of his hood, “would be coming off.”
“I can keep my eyes closed, I’ve done it before,” she retorted, the words escaping her lips before she had the chance to hold them in. Her eyes widened and she clapped a hand to her mouth, utterly mortified at her inadvertent admission of wanting to shower with him. Her stomach twisted into a thousand knots as she frantically wondered how the fuck she was going to talk her way out of this.
She wanted to die.
He cocked an eyebrow at her, grinning. “Believe me, I know you can. Let’s just say the last time I asked you to, I was very impressed with how well you can follow instructions when you don’t fucking backchat me.”
Lute sank lower into the couch, pulling the blanket over her head so Adam wouldn’t see how her face and chest were basically glowing fluorescent. So she didn’t have to look at his stupid smug fake face as it smirked at her.
“What’s my third option?” she muttered, her voice strained.
“You don’t bathe at all for the next week. Which is fucking gross.”
She felt him rip the blanket away from her, and she yelped at the sensation of the cool air on her bare skin, goosebumps creeping up her arms. She glared up at Adam, who was now standing over her, blanket tossed to the side.
“Was that necessary?” she asked, folding her arms over her stomach.
He shrugged. “Not really, no, but I need an answer, and I didn’t feel like you were going to give me one, so I had to do something.. What’s it gonna be, babe?”
“I don’t have a choice, do I?” she groaned, “I’ll take a bath.”
“Slightly disappointed you didn’t suggest the shower, to be honest.” He bent down and slid one arm under her knees, and the other around her waist, lifting her up off the couch effortlessly. “Come on. Let’s get you clean. Want me to give you a sponge bath while we’re at it?”
Lute turned her head and let it rest against Adam’s chest as he carried her to his bathroom, taking in his scent - woody, aromatic. Slightly peppery, even. Masculine.
Intoxicating.
For all the times he’d been in her personal space, she’d never really paid attention to how he smelt. She was usually too busy being annoyed by his presence.
Or, he had her preoccupied in other ways.
As for his comment about the sponge bath?
Lute felt that sometimes, some questions were best left unanswered.
#guardrock#guitarspear#hazbin hotel#adam x lute#hazbin hotel lute#guitarspear fic#hazbin hotel adam#hazbin adam#hazbin hotel fanfic#hazbin lute
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THE NARANCIA BOAT SCENE AND WHY IT'S A CRUCIAL CHARACTER SCENE: A half assed introspective
As I stated in another post, one of Narancia Ghirga's major recurring themes is 'youth'. To put things short (im currently sick rn but im trying to muster up the energy to type and word out my thoughts) he had to grow up early. He was a young boy who lost his mother, faced neglect from his father and was betrayed by a group he sought love and trust from. Even after joining the gang, though in a better shape, Narancia still seeks out love and respect. But unfortunately, even though he's got two whole years on mr. Giorno "buddyboy" Giovanna, he's seen as a rambunctious, childish subordinate with a horrible temper. Despite his endeavors to prove himself in order to feel like he's receiving the same level of respect as his peers, it's still true. Without proper guidance (and formal education) growing up he doesn't know how to manage his emotions, and he's seen to latch onto people whom he trusts despite what happened to him in the past. (He's seeking love and respect, remember?) That attachment earns him the title of being a fiercly loyal member to Passione and his friends. Like cmon, the guy BURNT DOWN AN ENTIRE STREET as a last attempt to not let down his peers.
"looks like I don't have to burn down the whole city." NARANCIA WAS WILLING TO BURN DOWN AN EVEN LARGER AMOUNT OF TOWN FOR HIS GANG. REMEMBER THAT.
now let's talk about his pivotal character moment: the boat scene.
Sure, I completely understand it was a HUGE risky decision, you're literally betraying the fucking italian mafia how is a normal person not supposed to go in a dilemma when presented with that decision??
But from a personal perspective, as someone who had a series of similar betrayals and previously had abandonment issues, back then, being able to detach or have a differing opinion from those you trust is hard. It has a "oh, what if I fuck up? I can't just let them down like that. What will they think of me? Will I do the wrong thing?" mindset and it just goes over your mind over and over again. Fugo was the guy who helped him out of the gutter, being a friend he could trust after a series of betrayals. So naturally, he holds Fugo in a high regard, he just can't let him down like that or even let alone, ABANDON the guy who saved him from abandonment. now what was Narancia gonna do?
I can't assume as I am not Narancia, but given how similar my past circumstances have been to his, I'm so, SO sure that was a floating factor when he was trying to decide on what to do. Was Narancia going leave behind his found family? Or was he going to leave the one that brought trust back into his life?
However, that mental dilemma suddenly took a turn towards one decision when Narancia felt empathy towards Trish upon learning of her situation. Now here's the thing about Narancia's character; Narancia may not be academically intelligent, but that guy has such a high emotional intelligence.
He would NEVER wish his experiences on anyone he trusts or knows. Narancia knows the pain, and seeing others go through similar situations pains him as well. Even without proper guidance and practically being a street rat for most of his early teen life, he displays so much empathy and EQ. And honestly, that's what makes his character just so human. Despite the pain and all the wrongdoings done to him, Narancia still chooses to do the right thing. And hell, given EVERYTHING that has happened, one nudge into the wrong direction and Narancia could've been villainous, he could've been a drug addict, a senseless criminal etc.
Look, if you've noticed a pattern in Narancia's backstory/character, he's following others. His blonde friend? "Sure, I'll follow him so I seem cooler!" And yeah, one can argue that Narancia joining the mafia and disregarding Bruno's statement is his first act of paving his own path and yeah, it is. But I'd like to say that scene is the equivalent of opening a door while the boat scene is the equivalent of his first step.
When you open a door, you have two options: it's either you proceed forward or you shut it without proceeding.
Even after joining the mob, he still keeps that element of loyalty. He follows Bruno's orders out of both respect towards his hero and wanting to be respected by his peers. Now, what if Fugo didn't find him? Narancia literally lived in the streets of Naples, and it's safe to say he had higher odds at becoming a senseless criminal or drug addict in comparison to being found and fed by Fugo and Bruno. He was willing to do anything for respect after all, at that time he didn't have a sense of what peer pressure was, so who knows where that could've led him?
Anyways, back to Narancia's empathy.
It requires so much mental strength to maintain that kind of empathetic mindset with that background. Bravo, Ghirga.
Youth, empathy and trust. those are three Narancia's major character themes. (There's one more, but let's save that for another post.)
so him jumping into the water to pursue the boat is such a pivotal character moment for him, he took his first step.
Additionally, it is to be noted that it is also stated in PHF that Narancia was never proficient at swimming, but he jumped in anyway. IF THAT IS NOT RAW HUMAN DETERMINATION RIGHT THERE, I DO NOT KNOW WHAT IS.
His first step into pivoting his own path on his accord, no influences from other parties. He was starting to go on his own path, he was growing up. But not in the same sense as him having to enter the mob as a teenager, but in a mental sense.
This was his character moment, Narancia began to grow up.
His titles in the official weiss schwarz cards also further this character theme.
"Narancia, Choosing His Own Path"
"Narancia, Way Forward"
"Narancia, PIONEER OF FATE."
#narancia ghirga#narancia#jjba#jojo#golden wind#jojos bizarre adventure part 5#jjba part 5#vento aureo#bruno bucciarati#sources: just search for weiss schwarz narancia#and for the phf source this is the line im referring to:#“Fugo stared after him blankly. Unable to react at all. Narancia was never a great swimmer.”#why did i have fun writing this like lowk
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Thoughts on My Adventures with Superman S2 episode 4
Alright 2 things, 1 I love how General lane Not only set up an entire bunker like fortress in Clark and Jimmy's apartment, but also made them Use a Code word in order for them to Even get in, 2 I Reallly love Clark's reaction to Jimmy's achievement, it really shows how much he cares about his friend and is really happy for him 😊 Also is it me or has the Animation gotten So much Better this Season, they really stepped their Game up since the Spiderman fiasco, especially when it comes to the lighting and faces, I mean just look at Clark's smile here >_<
Bruh I'm calling it right now, by the end of this Season Jimmy is going to lose ALL of his Money, that Money meter keeps going down each episode, if that isn't foreshadowing Idk what is ^^;
Once again I'm really loving the relationship between these 2, the fact that Jimmy wants Clark to come not because he's an Alien but because he's his best friend is really sweet, and it really shows just how much the writers Really know about Superman and his world and want to make it to the best version, also the fact that Clark is LITERALLY deciding which outfit seems more "Hype man" is Really funny to me, especially Jimmy's comeback line after this
Judging how Waller is clearly making another Task force X I wanna say this Blockbuster, but I'm not entirely sure, so far this guy's only appeared in like a few episodes this season, So if they kill him off I Wont entirely be mad, because he serves No purpose other than filling out the Villain slots, and the reason why I'm saying this might be Blockbuster is because I can't recall another Villain with super strength and Built like this in the suicide Squad other than blockbuster, who coincidently died IMMEDIATELY in a Suicide Squad comic run
Even though the episode is clearly about lois and father, it's Super obvious that it was actually focused on the relationship between Clark and Jimmy, and how they feel about 1 another, this scene with Clark telling Jimmy about how he's made him feel was really beautiful and Ngl, I kinda teared up at this point, the relationship between the 2 is some of the best I've seen in a Long time since the animated series back on WB Kids, they really put a lot of effort into fleshing out each character and making us Fall in love with them even more ^w^
The whole Superman Debate Scene was great, I really loved how Lex and Jimmy are basically two polar opposites, 1 supporting superman and his pureness and the other being Superman's biggest Hater, with both literally being incredibly rich rn, and it's kinda funny, while Jimmy is losing money, Lex is Gaining money, gaining everyhing that we know him for; Lex brought up a lot of good points regarding Superman and how "Dangerous" he is, Stuff that I think will Return in Season 3 with people Gunning for Superman or trying to Eliminate him, maybe we might actually see Batman Show up Next season 😏
I find it So CONVENIENT that general lane's Rendezvous point Just so happens to be near the STAR Labs EXPO, almost like if this was planned for this to happen here, So that when Superman shows up he could be made out as the Bad guy *looks intently at Lex*
As Sad as this scene is you're really telling me He DIDN'T HEAR THAT!? I mean the dude has SUPER HEARING for a reason, you're REALLY telling me he Didn't hear that? Ok whatever Sure, I guess super hearing Only works when the Writers Need it huh, even though they made a WHOLE episode about that Last season 😒
🥺🥺🥺 I don't have any words for this scene other than Seeing Clark like this really hurts my soul, seeing him come to the Realization that he's Never gonna truly fit in and that He NEEDS Someone like him to Really understand him just shows how much Clark has repressed these feelings by trying to be Something he's not, which is human, Now he's Finally starting to accept his Alien/Kryptonian half, with the 1st step being to find someone Truly like him
ZOD IS HERE OMG ZOD IS HERE!!
Also I Officially dub these Days "Superman Saturday's" ^^ 🦸♂️
#anime#kawaii#2000s anime#90s anime#my adventures with superman#superman#clark kent#jimmy olsen#lois lane#lex luthor#sam lane#maws#maws season 2#Blockbuster#atomic skull#kara zor el#supergirl#superbat#general zod#miimo96#Superman Saturday's
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Thoughts on Sukuna's ideal type of who will be his companion or partner (not necessarily romantic or sexual)
(Answered as of JJK 262 using TCB Scans.)
This is very hard to answer. We know for a fact that Sukuna enjoys people similar to him, as in people who have cast away their humanity in pursuit of strength—monsters like him.
However, Sukuna doesn’t seem to like Kenjaku very much. I think this is because Kenjaku has intellectual pursuits/goals rather than pure strength based ones. Even though they both see people as food and are seeking entertainment, that slight difference in approach has Sukuna mildly tolerating Kenjaku instead salivating. And if you’ve seen this post of mine, it may also because Kenjaku doesn’t fully respect Sukuna’s boundaries.
Sukuna seems to prefer people who show him respect without pushing burdens onto him. The Shibuya Incident illustrates this perfectly. We have Mimiko and Nanako who put their heads to the floor vs Jogo who takes a knee. Sukuna punishes only Jogo for not showing enough respect.
Then when the twins start being to demanding he kills them. Jogo asks nothing of him and this changes how Sukuna sees him. Sukuna even decides to go along with their plans in his own way as a show of gratitude.
In the end he winds up respecting Jogo much more despite being irritated by his initial lack of deference.
And if you noticed, Jogo and Uraume both kneel, but Sukuna punishes only one of them. This demonstrates how highly Sukuna regards Uraume compared to others. He likes that they respect his boundaries and demand nothing of him. Uraume is exclusively giving to Sukuna as a servant so it works for them. (The master-servant dynamic can be a little lonely though.)
For the same reasons, Gojo vs Sukuna is very different from Sukuna vs Yorozu and Kashimo. Yorozu wants Sukuna’s solitude for herself and Kashimo wants to fight Sukuna to sate his own ego—how Sukuna feels about it doesn’t matter. They challenge Sukuna for themselves and his love, and Sukuna treats them with mild to open disdain before killing them.
Gojo does the exact opposite. “You’re the challenger here.” Sukuna may call him a punk for this, but he smiles at this and almost non-stop throughout their fight.
That burden Sukuna is constantly objectified for is taken by Gojo without hesitation. He seems to appreciate this a lot. And to be fair, they both agreed it was going to be this way since Sukuna made the declaration and Gojo told him it was an honor to be targeted.
So from this information we can reasonably assume Sukuna’s ideal type:
>Monstrously strong. (Aka not boring. Also isolated from other humans because of said strength.)
>Respectful of his boundaries. (Treating him like an individual instead of an object for self-fulfillment.)
>Low-maintenance. (No pushing burdens onto him.)
I would also say Sukuna prefers some sense of class given how he is stingy about some formalities. He gets very upset over Yorozu’s overall boorishness. And the distress over the most minor of details in her haiku? It's as hilarious as it is telling about his standards.
However…he just lets it slide when Gojo is arguably more uncouth. So like with Jogo vs Uraume, we can also infer that Sukuna is far more fond of Gojo given his leniency.
Even how he treats them when dying is vastly different. Kenjaku called Sukuna and Yorozu's relationship one-sided for a reason.
Regardless, Sukuna's tolerance of other people seems to vary drastically by a combination of factors. He's kind of like a moody cat. It's all about that delicate balance of respect without putting him on a pedestal and being a good fighter who can maybe read his mind as well. Sukuna is pretty high-maintenance himself you know.
If we ever get more backstory on him, it'll be easier to see the patterns in retrospect. But if you ask me, whatever the hell is wrong with Gojo seems to be right up Sukuna's alley. Uraume is pretty close too. They just need to be less of a fanatic and stronger.
#asks#cactus yaps#ryomen sukuna#jujutsu kaisen#jjk spoilers#Do I even tag this with ships? This is kind of Sukugo and even Sukume if you squint.#Sukuna has such highly specific emotional needs it's funny.#He's so picky despite saying he only cares about himself and good food.#I know a lot of people try to put Yorozu and Kashimo in the same camp as Gojo. But it's just so different side by side.#Gojo keeps his true desires to himself and doesn't even ask for Sukuna's acknowledgement. That's more in line with Uraume.
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Despite being a man of science, raised in a family of science, Zayne sure is very familiar with religion and fortune telling
And now with him being so cryptic here, I'm starting to wonder if Dr. Zayne has access to his other selves. So far, both his myth selves have the ability to see people's futures. Maybe Dr. Zayne is able to see his own? Or at least, maybe he knows what will happen to MC outside of his medical knowledge
He looks troubled here, more than we've ever seen before. He looks lost in thought and shakes his head while MC is talking as if he's only half listening because he's trying to decide if he should tell her what he knows
That breeze and floral scent that passes by is no doubt a sign of the Master of Fate (and possibly his MC). But this really does not help deny the thoughts that Master = Dr. Zayne
My main criticism about how Master was written is that I couldn't separate his personality completely from Zayne's. They feel incredibly similar to me to the point where Master isn't distinct enough for me to call him a complete character that stands on his own
But are they now hinting that Master and Dr. Zayne are one and the same? That their way of writing Master was intentional?
I don't want this to be the case tbh. But Zayne is extremely suspicious here, speaking as though he IS Master.
Why would he go into such detail about the motives of gods when all MC said was maybe they're busy? He even takes the flower petal from her hair just like Master did in the myth. And he suggests that a god, not even plural, A god only takes one person, female, as his priority, despite the yearly rituals of sex with priestesses and gods in mythology tending to have multiple lovers?
I'm usually the one out here with conspiracy theories but this time it's Zayne himself being the source of it all
If Foreseer is able to see the memories of all Zaynes, and they're kept all in that book... maybe all Zaynes have the ability to tap into that too and see all the memories that Foreseer's wraith keeps in his garden
It could explain the voices haunting Zayne in that promotional video. The voices could also be just from his timeline alone, but none of this is confirmed yet
The only thing that saves me from drowning in this conspiracy theory is Dawnbreaker
If Zayne doesn't recognize Dawnbreaker, that means he doesn't have access to memories from ALL other versions of him.
(But the fact that Dawnbreaker has the ability to see into Zayne's life might suggest that he has an easier time tapping into the other Zaynes BUT THIS IS A WHOLE OTHER CAN OF WORMS THAT I SHOULDN'T OPEN HERE)
That throws one theory out but the main one that unsettles me the most is still up in the air
Dr. Zayne being the Master of Fate is still possible and still heavily suggested. Their mannerisms are very similar. The only difference is that Master tends to smile more. But is that not just a consequence of Zayne getting used to MC's influence?
Zayne's ability to smile is still there. He's still human. But if Master lost his ability to smile when he lost MC, and he... reincarnated as Zayne?? He'd still carry those wounds but he'd learn to smile again with MC's help
Sure, Master tends to use more wind than ice, but Medic Zayne's green ice is very reminiscent of Master's powers taken shape
Anyway, I don't know where I'm going with this
All I'm saying is that "Zayne in cosplay" might not be just a joke anymore asdflkjadklfn
#oh no it's me and my conspiracy theories again#don't take any of this seriously#save me dawnbreaker#I wanted to cut this somewhere but this is just me rambling out of my mind so I couldn't find a clean place to cut#ancientaliensguy.jpg#love and deepspace#zayne love and deepspace#master of fate#headcanons#❄️ dawnfrost reverie
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basically what i think is that people on here should start reblogging more things they don't go to. "idk anything about this thing my mutuals post about. it looks pretty but since idk what this is i'll just like or ignore it" makes me so sad. if you like something and think it's pretty, you can always say "i don't go here but" and stuff like that. it's easy!
it can also lead you to finding a new hobby pr favorite thing. for example: last spring one of my mutuals reblogged a pretty gifset from a game i thought was very pretty but didn't know anything about it. i decided to reblog it for fun, then at some point went to look through my blog and saw it again. decided to look up some lore about it and guess what? i now have more than 1k hours played on that game.
what's even better is that when you share something, someone else could see it and become interested in it, too! humans are social animals and by sharing things we can also share happiness, hobbies and interests, too. make each other happy, reblog others' creations and share the fun
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The Acolyte - Destiny Thoughts
"Destiny is not decided for you by an anonymous Force. You get to make a choice, Osha. If you want to pull the Thread, then pull it." Mother Aniseya
I love how the logo of the show matches the colors of a small part of the skies, especially when the Ascension was happening with the orange and light blue converging together. I do love how we get further humanization of this witch coven. However, I have a feeling we might have our view of them subverted since we see them from their POV.
Mae (her full name being Mae-Ho) was incredibly messed up as a child. With how Mae used the Force on the butterflies, as my friend said it best, those are serial killer signs (it also reminds me of Momin). I was incredibly surprised at how she thought killing her own sister would stop her from leaving. No wonder she became an Acolyte.
I like how Osha (her full name being Verosha) shows her desire to be more and explore the galaxy. It's hard for her and for anyone who is in her shoes to speak out for herself than others expect you to be. I also like the parallels to TPM Anakin which is even more apparent with no they were born with no father.
This leads to a major reveal of how Osha and Mae were conceived by the Force (or the Thread) by Mother Aniseya and Mother Koril. I hope we get to know more of the specifics behind this since the Force might not have liked this (in Legends, I believe Plagueis tried to manipulate the Midiclorians using the Force for immortality and the Force not liking being manipulated reacted back to this by creating Anakin) I do love this unique direction and exploration and I hope we get to learn more.
I really like Mother Aniseya. She was incredibly understanding towards Osha's well-being despite her preferring Osha to stay. It humanizes this group of witches despite the implications that the witches might've done something bad to warrant Jedi's caution. Since the Jedi did tolerate other Dark Side groups that weren't Sith, it makes one question what's up with this group in particular. I also like how her relationship with Mother Koril is shown. They both love each other but they clearly have different views on how to raise their children. It's also understandable of why the group doesn't want to give up their children given their trauma but they also have to respect that Osha wants to be more than a witch.
The HR Jedi are also portrayed well here. They're doing their best (understandably cautious towards the coven given the implied past of the group being not so great) and wanting to protect Force-sensitive children (the possession thing and what we know happened to Force-sensitive children). Sol continues to be one of the best Jedi of the HR Era and in general. His kindness and understanding of Osha stand out and show why Osha thinks so fondly of him. How he sympathizes with Osha about feeling scared just like her and comforts her that she isn't alone in this is great to see. You can feel the weight of his guilt when he had to tell her that none of her family survived.
The entire witch coven definitely didn't die in the fire (their bodies aren't charred). There's something much more going on and perhaps the Jedi are involved in it though I highly doubt they went out of their way to kill them if they did (I highly doubt Sol was a part of it if that's the case). Perhaps even the Sith or an Acolyte (the mysterious Dark Side user) was responsible for the explosion. However, I definitely think the fire was the first domino that led to the tragedy. Mae's irrational and disturbing behavior had inadvertently resulted in the loss of everything.
Episode 3 continues Acolyte's greatness and I hope Episode 4 continues this streak.
#star wars#the acolyte#star wars acolyte#master sol#master torbin#indara#osha aniesya#mae aniesya#kelnacca#mother aniseya#mother koril#my original post#destiny#sw destiny
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Matacuervos, ch. 4 - La joya
Hamal and Zevran find a lead in the brothels of Rialto, but will they manage to investigate it in time?
Read update on AO3 - Read from the beginning on AO3
“Philanthropists,” the woman said with a flourish, and she snapped her fan shut in distaste.
It was hot in the basement of the brothel, La espina dorsal , and the thick and heavy scent of bodies permeated the room. The heat was making her make-up drip off, which was quite a sight to see amidst a backdrop of entwined lovers.
“Philanderers, more like,” she continued. “They claim it’s all worth it if the babes end up cared for. That a Chantry cloister will protect them better than here.”
“You doubt it?” Zevran asked.
She scoffed.
“Not without reason,” she said. “But… if they are so charitable why not come for the orphans sooner? Why wait years between visits? Why not take every child in need, not just the healthy ones?” Bitterness laced her voice, sending a shiver down Zevran’s spine. “All I know is, the day my friends were taken was the day I decided I was done with the Maker. Perhaps you can ask the Chantry why they don’t help all of us; why a bum leg makes a six year old girl unfit to serve Andraste, but fit enough to stay in this sty.”
Zevran glanced at Hamal, sharing the same grim thought. Rocio’s mangled leg would have been a death sentence for a young Crow recruit. And yet, leaving her behind was no mercy.
Zevran shifted closer, asking his next question with great care.
“It seems your friends were taken around the time frame we are investigating. Do you recall anything else about the day they left?”
A lengthy pause followed. Her eyes briefly seemed to focus elsewhere, before she answered. “No. I’m sorry. They didn’t leave any information. Just said I wouldn’t be a good fit where they were going.”
“Thank you for your time,” Zevran said when they had finished talking. “And your lovely company.”
“Didn’t even do nothing!” Rocio chuckled, taking the money. “But alright. See you ‘round.”
Stepping out of the brothel, Zevran couldn’t help but feel as stifled as he had indoors.
The sun bore down like a dagger. They’d spent all day searching for leads, visiting brothels and orphanages across the city with the same story: that they were tracking down a long-lost relative.
It was not entirely a lie. Zevran felt a genuine kinship with the workers of Rialto’s brothels; they had raised him, after all, and just like anyone else in the city, they sought only to make a living, to raise enough coin to build a life. But they had few protections when things went wrong. A single misfortune—a death, an illness, or an arrest—was all it took. When children were involved, it spelled grim consequences.
They had yet to find any tangible evidence, but many of the brothels had reported curiously similar anecdotes: a generous donor, a charitable organization, or an anonymous do-gooder who arrived to adopt the forgotten children. The offer would come with uncanny timing, often just when it was needed most. And who could argue against one less mouth to feed?
No records, no documentation of where they’d go. It was easy for the city to look the other way, for these were orphans or bastards or both. And so they were taken, no questions asked.
It made Zevran’s blood boil.
He sulked in a bad mood the entire way back to the cheap sawdust inn they’d paid double what the humans paid to lodge at. He persisted in a sour mood through dinner, and even after they went to bed—only to wake Hamal in the small hours of the morning, too angry to sleep.
“I do not think it was the Chantry that came for those children ten years ago,” Zevran hissed. “Or perhaps I don’t want to believe it… and yet, Sister Tristeza spoke of this allegiance between the Crows and the Chantry. How deeply does it run? I am a devout man—even I’ve heard rumours that one bore the other long ago.”
“Which one?” Hamal asked in a sleep-tinged voice, but Zevran continued in frustration.
“Of course a girl with a mangled leg would be found unfit for the Crows. She would have died during training. But would knowing the true fate of her friends change anything? She was abandoned. She needed saving.” Here he paused, for his anger threatened to spill over.
Rocio’s fate felt intertwined with his, separated only by happenstance. Her mangled leg had saved her, but not from everything.
“Could she still need saving?” Hamal asked, and Zevran realized, by the cadence of his words, that he was half-asleep. “Could we?”
The question resonated enough to slow Zevran’s racing thoughts. He couldn’t tell whether Hamal meant could we need saving, also? or could we save her?
It felt self-aggrandizing to think they could save anyone, damned as they already were.
“I don’t fucking know,” he said at last, all too aware of his bitterness leeching out.
Hamal sighed and regarded Zevran for a long moment.
“Someone will put a stop to it,” he said finally. “The people will not allow it to continue once they realize what is happening. They will wonder why they never hear word from the adopted, and they will be wary when the next Crow recruiter comes.”
“With any luck,” Zevran said fiercely, “We’ll find him ourselves first. And put daggers in him until he tells us all we need to know.”
“Exactly.” Hamal fell back onto his pillow, like a log. “Come back to bed, vhenan .”
Zevran shook his head. Sleeplessness had claimed him already—yet he grudgingly climbed under the thin sheets with Hamal.
“I will, but I won’t sleep.”
“Keep watch then,” Hamal said, in a voice drowsy enough to curb any argument. He latched onto Zevran’s arm and then he was out like a light—leaving Zevran in awe of how quickly his husband could sleep, even in these circumstances.
.
Dawn broke over the city and fatigue had tempered Zevran’s anger for the time being. He’d managed to sleep for an hour or two before they began the day’s investigations. Fortunately he was used to running on fumes.
“How many brothels are there in Rialto?”
It was a particularly sunny morning. Hamal had pushed all of his curls into a messy bun, and shoved the whole mess beneath a wide-brimmed sombrero , but Zevran rather suspected he needed more sun protection than that. For now he led him through shaded alleyways, avoiding the crowded main streets and the direct sunlight.
“It’s a very large port city,” he responded.
“So?”
“Lots.” Zevran smiled at him. “About a dozen at least. Ah, if only we were here under better circumstances! A brothel is normally a place of good cheer and relaxation.”
“We will just have to come back when we are not tracking down slavers,” Hamal said with a smile.
“Now there’s an idea,” Zevran said, contemplating it. His thoughts briefly recalled The Pearl in Denerim. “In any case,” he continued, “one of these places is bound to have a lead. Someone, somewhere, knows something. We just need to find the right person to talk to.”
“Perhaps,” Hamal said. “We may have already found her.”
He gestured with a short motion of his head to the cobblestone road behind them. Zevran followed his gaze.
It took him a moment to recognize her without the heavy layers of make-up, and she walked in the company of another woman, but her dark curls were the same as when they’d seen her yesterday, and she carried the same light-weight aluminum cane with her. It caught the light and shone like a mirror as she swung it forward with every step.
She greeted them with the false names they had taken to using in the city. “Amrit! Hirael! My, you two are hard to track down!”
“How did you manage?” Zevran asked.
“Whores talk, you know,” Rocio laughed. “I mentioned your visit to my friend here, and I quickly learned you’d been visiting nearly every brothel this side of town. I said, Maker, he must have an appetite!”
The woman beside her offered her hand. “Elena,” she said, giving Zevran and Hamal’s a hearty shake. “I work at La joya. ”
“A pleasure,” Zevran said.
“It will be,” Rocio said. “Tell them!”
Elena waved her hand excitedly, beckoning Zevran closer, and when he was near enough, she whispered: “A man came to La joya a few days ago,” she said. “He was from some charity in Salle. A trade school for impoverished children. He said his work took him around the country—to brothels, orphanages, hospitals, you know. Places where children often wound up alone. They’d teach them to read and write, and hire them out to factories who would provide for them while they worked. Any child! The elves, the humans, even if they were mage-blooded. Sounds fishy, hm?”
Zevran took a deep breath. This was it; exactly what they’d been looking for.
“Can we find somewhere to talk?” he asked. “You can tell us what you know, and we will tell you a little more about why we are here.”
.
They came to a brick building, covered in flowers that clung to the walls in enticing greenery. La joya lived up to its name. The windows glimmered and the scent of perfume was strong, even outside. Inside, the atmosphere likened more to a spa or a fine bathhouse. This did not escape Zevran, who raised a brow, looking at Hamal.
“Can’t say I’ve ever been here,” he said.
“Can’t say I’ve ever worked here,” Rocio sighed. She rubbed her hip with a grimace as they walked on.
They were greeted by several guests as they went. More than once, Elena kissed a patron on the cheek, shook hands, or embraced them with a cheerful, “Lovely to see you! But it’s my day off, darling. Do come again tomorrow.”
Down a hallway and to the left, they passed a well-stocked kitchen, then exited again to a central courtyard where potted flowers were arranged in clusters along the path. It was quiet, with the bustle of the streets lowered to a dim hum. From there they crossed the way to another building, which rose above the treeline.
“Where are we going?” Hamal asked.
“To speak to the boss,” Elena said. “The apartments are this way.”
“Apartments? Your employer lives where the workers live?” Zevran asked.
It was far from what Zevran was expecting. The building they arrived at was a tenement for the workers—aged, with flaking plaster, small and humble rooms, yet clean and maintained. When Elena knocked on the door, it was like they were visiting anyone on the street. The middle-aged woman who answered looked like any woman at the market.
“Ah, it is you!” she said, and waved everyone inside. “Come on in. I take it you are you the ones tracking down your family?”
Rocio made a beeline to a wood and wicker chair near the woodstove. She sat and hung her cane on a hook on the wall, then procured a small bag of tobacco from a drawer.
“Mind if I smoke?” she asked.
Elena walked into what could barely be termed a living room. She dropped into the lap of a tall light-haired man, who kissed her, gripping her tightly by the shoulders.
“Take that as a yes,” Rocio hummed.
There were a lot of people in the apartment, gathered together with the ease of friends who’d known one another for years. For a moment, Zevran wondered if he’d misunderstood the purpose of the visit, but they were guests, and so, he practiced patience for the time being.
“Thank you for having us,” Zevran said, shifting his bag off his shoulder. “Who is the owner of La joya?”
Rocio stifled a laugh. She grinned, as if she was revealing a grand secret with her answer.
“Everyone!”
It took a bit of explaining.
There were nine people crammed into that tiny apartment, six of them workers at La joya . Besides Elena, there were Damian and Cora—prostitutes. Lara, who had answered the door, managed the washrooms. Jania, an elven bodyguard on her day off. Terrance, a stripper—distinguished from Damian and Cora for his strict no-touch policy, though he assured them, he had no need of touch to leave his audience satisfied.
“I don’t quite understand,” Hamal said in whispered to Zevran in Common. “They explained it too quickly.”
“It is something like what the workers of The Pearl did,” Zevran explained. “But they went a step further—they pooled their money to buy the entire business.”
“We are the Rialto Society of Pleasures,” Elena said with a flourish. “Cooperatives like this exist across the country—but we are the first for workers of brothels and pleasure houses. We keep the money we make, and work together to run things.”
“It works,” Rocio drawled amidst puffs of smoke, “more or less. There is quite a bit of turnover—”
“Because no one is bound to stay,” Lara said. “That is important. No contracts. Just rent, and board, for those who opt to live in the tenement, that sort of thing.”
Zevran took in the information as he did anything else in life; recognizing its immediate impact on him (none) and its objective merit (excellent). He sidled up to the counter in the small kitchen and looked at all the proud and smiling faces around him.
If his mother had wound up in a brothel like this—
But she hadn’t. No use dwelling on it.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” he said. “Were I not otherwise occupied with my husband I might even consider applying!”
“Really?” Rocio giggled. “Get in line. My application’s been in for months.”
They had good reason to be proud. Not every prostitute was so fortunate. And yet, it had taken years, a lot of work, and a dash of luck to make it happen.
But they had not come here to talk about business; Zevran quickly refocused.
“Now that we understand how things are run here, tell us about this visitor you received. Who exactly spoke to this man?”
“Jania and Damian,” Lara said.
“And so when the stranger came and offered to adopt any orphaned children…”
“We told him we had no unwanted children,” Damian explained. “Some of the workers choose to raise families, yes. And occasionally we take in children when their parents cannot care for them. But it’s never a hardship. So he left empty-handed. That was that.”
“But that was not all,” Hamal observed after a moment, in his careful Antivan. “Or why talk to us?”
A lull passed over the small group. Rocio pulled a deep drag from her cigarette.
“We robbed him,” Jania said.
“Ha!” Hamal’s face lit up; his Antivan was still middling, but he understood her easily.
Damian produced a piece of paper from his waistcoat pocket. He passed it to Cora who passed it to Lara, who handed it to Zevran, who unfolded it.
“These fools are always writing shit down and it is their own undoing,” Hamal observed in Common, as he read over Zevran’s shoulder.
The paper contained a handwritten list of brothels in the city. The majority of them were struck out, along with a tally system beside some of the names. Only a few on the list remained unchecked. El milagro was one of the brothels which had not yet been struck through.
“I didn’t like him,” Damian said. “He gave me a bad feeling. But I didn’t think anything of it until Rocio stopped by, and mentioned your search for information. Could this have anything to do with it?”
Zevran creased the paper slightly, brow furrowed. “These tallies…”
“Whores he slept with, we assumed,” Rocio said.
“No,” Zevran said softly. “Children they’ve taken. I think I must tell you,” he said, looking up at the Rialto Society of Pleasures, “The truth. But it is horrible. And we have little time to act.”
.
Rocio had put out her cigarette. She sat hunched at the table, lost in her thoughts, and she hadn’t spoken since Zevran explained his suspicions and his lived proof. Sometimes the truth was cruel. Even when it was necessary.
The rest of them considered what could be done.
“We should bring the list to the city guard,” Jania suggested.
“What will they do, exactly? A piece of paper is hardly proof of anything. Even if they believed us, something tells me they wouldn’t exactly jump to action,” Elena said.
“Unfortunately, you are correct,” Zevran said. “What I have shared with you is already common knowledge in some circles; I am quite certain the owner of the brothel I grew up in knew exactly where he was sending us off to. But… you deserve to know for yourselves, what has been happening all these years.”
“What are you going to do now?”
“We are going to find them,” Hamal said slowly. “And kill them.”
“His Antivan is not very good,” Zevran added in the silence that followed. “He means, we will tie them up. As in, we will capture them.”
Hamal glanced at him, annoyed.
Zevran held up the note. “You have helped us tremendously with this information alone,” he said. “Thank you. I pray you never have to deal with these slavers again. If we have any success, you won’t.”
“That’s all?” Rocio asked, looking up at him over an ashtray.
“Please! Whatever you are going to do, we want to be a part of it,” Elena insisted. “These are our children targeted.”
Zevran frowned. He strongly felt that it was not wise to get more people involved; too many hands in too delicate of a situation. He had intended to warn rather than invite, to protect rather than endanger, but Hamal set a hand on his shoulder, switching to whispered Common.
“Might be good to have eyes out, Zev. There are a lot of names on this list and we cannot surveil all of them. Let’s do it this way,” he said, gesturing to the paper. “Send them here, and here… At the very least they can carry a warning. Just in case.”
Zevran nodded thoughtfully.
It occurred to him, not for the first time, how much more daunting this journey would be like without Hamal’s counsel and support.
“Very well. Then help us in this,” he said, turning back to the group, “We cannot visit every site on this list tonight. Go to these locations.” He dabbed a gloved finger into the ashtray, and used it to indicate several names, before handing the list back to Elena. “But be discreet; simply warn them that a suspicious person might come, bearing lies. And I beg you— do not mention us, by description or name. You could endanger yourselves more than you realize.”
“Got it,” Elena said, scanning the paper already. “Let’s split up.”
“What do we do if we find the bastard?” Damian asked.
Zevran hesitated. “Stall. Wait for us to arrive.”
“But-”
“We will be there,” Zevran said quickly. “Now, we have a few hours to act; these visits, to my knowledge, happen under cover of night. We must prepare.”
.
Zevran clasped Hamal’s arm and led him away from the building at a frantic pace. That small apartment had begun to feel claustrophobic. He wanted it far behind, and besides, he knew where they were needed next.
“I’m sweating,” Hamal said, walking along hurriedly. “That building was hot. Zevran. What-”
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” he asked simply, voice clipped in urgency. Signs and windows rushed past as they half-jogged through the streets.
“Yes! The next place they will try to buy recruits from—that woman at El milagro ,” Hamal said. “She was afraid of you because she was expecting someone. Someone she didn’t want you to meet.”
“Exactly,” Zevran hissed. “He is going there soon, I know it. She wanted us gone, because she knew —she knew who I was and she knew why we were there and—”
“He is definitely going to be at El milagro . But Zevran, slow down—”
Hamal dug his heels in. Exercising a bit of his marital privilege, he scooped Zevran up into his arms, steadying him for a moment.
“Breathe, vhenan,” he said firmly. And quickly set him back down, before Zevran had a chance to complain.
Zevran huffed, glancing up at him then glaring away. “If it is the same man…”
“I know.” Hamal plucked the string of his bow, worn around his chest. “I can handle it.”
Zevran shook his head. “You don’t need to do that.”
“Listen: point at something for me to shoot. Go on. There’s no one around.”
Zevran frowned at the game. He hesitated to waste time when every second seemed necessary, but truly, he was not thinking clearly. He did as he was told. “That water pail,” he said, feeling mischievous and a little mean.
In an instant it was useless, holed up with an arrow from Hamal’s bow.
“Again,” Hamal said. “A challenge.”
Knowing perfectly well what he was capable of, Zevran spied around for a moment. Then he spoke, with an arm outstretched. “That poster on the wall, the red one. Sixty yards down. By the flowers.”
Hamal took a moment to aim, but he loosed an arrow just as easily. Of course, it hit dead center.
They walked together to retrieve the arrows.
“It will be that simple,” Hamal spoke. “You will not need to be strong, fast, or even brave for this, Zevran. Just point at him. If this is hard for you, just tell me where to shoot.”
“Amor, I appreciate that. But this will be difficult,” Zevran explained, pulling his arrow out of the wall it had embedded itself in, “Because we will need this man alive.”
He handed it to Hamal, with a somber look as the Warden took the arrow.
“We will need to take him and question him. We cannot kill him right away. That complicates things. Increases the risk of things going wrong. Think: Can he signal someone? Will he be alone or will he have backup? Will he be armed? Will he have…”
He stopped, unable to say it.
“Children with him,” Hamal concluded with a sigh. He understood, then. “Oh, ma vhenan. There was nothing you could have done for those boys in the church.”
Zevran nodded, avoiding his gaze. More than anything, he worried about what might happen.
“Let’s go,” he said.
#rinnywrites#dragon age#zevran arainai#zevran x warden#mahariel#oc: hamal mahariel#matacuervos#fingers crossed the next update doesn't take six months <3
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A Day Off: A PMD Lost Tracks of Time AU
Summary: During a weekend where the Battle Subway has shut down for maintenance, Ingo offers Mono a train trip, and Emmet wants to spend time with her at Nimbasa's amusement park.
Background: This is for the Swap AU (forgive the old art). After the events of LTOT, Sneasler is turned into a human and is sent back in time to Unova before Ingo got taken to Hisui.
In terms of timeline, this is after Sneasler aka Mono has established herself as a trainer, is roommates with Elesa, and got a job at the Battle Subway out of pity (or so she claims).
This is a long one. It could've been split, but I didn't want to.
Also, for clarity: Mono is Sneasler's name as a human. Everyone knows her as Mono, but the narration uses both Mono and Sneasler for her. Is that confusing? Maybe. But I'm too lazy to change it.
"Unbelievable," Sneasler said. She wished she figured out human technology by now. Perhaps if she had, she wouldn't have entered Gear Station at the typical early morning time and saw signs blocking the entrance to her workplace.
"Good morning, Miss Mono!"
"Morning, Ingo." Sneasler turned to see Ingo, who lacked his black Subway Boss coat and hat but still wore his button shirt and pants. "I know I'm here because I messed up, I guess. But why are you here?"
"I need to make sure that maintenance occurs as smoothly as possible!" Ingo said. "That said, I only need to do periodic checks. After I complete this first morning check, would you like to accompany me for a train ride around Unova?"
"Just you? Emmet's not coming?" Sneasler almost asked about Elesa but stopped herself upon remembering that she left Nimbasa for a fashion show.
"Since I accepted the responsibility to watch over the Battle Subway, Emmet decided to try alternate routes for his weekend. We work together and have many common interests, but we don't always need to be a two-car train."
Sneasler turned her head so Ingo wouldn't see her cringe. Before she was kidnapped out of her time, Emmet had gotten better about going on separate missions without Ingo. But the literal and metaphorical scars remained. Once in a while, Emmet would suffer a panic attack if Ingo - or Eelektross or even her - were away for too long. He hated that it was still an issue, and so did she. One day I'm gonna kick Arceus' ass for the pain they caused, she thought.
She shook off the mental damage to continue her questioning. "Are you gonna be okay being gone from the station for a while? How long's the trip?"
"Less than two hours! We will return to Gear Station by the end, and there are no stops in between. This is purely a scenic trip!"
"...Okay. Why me?"
"Does there need to be a reason?" Ingo's eyes widened. "Wait, do you have another activity scheduled?"
Sneasler shrugged. Had she known, she could have at least slept in - though that's easier said than done, considering her recent insomnia. "Not really. Sure, I'll do a train ride."
"Excellent! Allow me to finish what I need to, and we will be off!" Ingo sped-walked past Mono before she could ask where she should wait.
---
Sneasler didn't wait long for Ingo. He led her to the wing of Gear Station she seldom visited beyond the her first day in Unova and ended up on a train. Unlike the Battle Subway's trains, they offered plenty of benches and tables for guests to rest at. She and Ingo took a car with no one else in it. Ingo chose a table, and Mono sat across from him, putting her basket next to her on the bench.
"Did you make that basket? It appears well-made and well-cared for," Ingo asked.
"Uh, thanks. It's... an heirloom," Mono said. This is going be a painful ride, isn't it?
The journey began. They started underground, but soon they popped out of a tunnel near Driftviel City. It was Sneasler's first time outside of Nimbasa. The mining city vaguely reminded her of the dungeons near Cobalt Coastlands.
Ingo interrupted Sneasler's musing. "Is something the matter, Miss Mono?"
Sneasler realized she had been staring at him. "Uh, no! I, uh, haven't been sleeping well. That's all."
"Oh, I'm sorry that you've been having such roadblocks. Is there anything I can can for you? Does your schedule need to be changed?"
"Nope, my work schedule is fine." Much to her chagrin, Ingo and Emmet trained Sneasler well to wake up at dawn. Even before then, she preferred mornings and daylight to night. "Don't worry about it, alright?"
"My job is to transport talented trainers to greater heights, and that includes the trainers helping us as well. On that topic, how are your pokemon doing? If I remember, your current team is a Croagunk, a Riolu, and a Whirlipede."
"Wow, you actually remembered that?" Does he usually remember different trainers' teams like that??
"Well, you only recently became a trainer, am I correct? Our guests who have battled against you certainly couldn't tell! You've been performing fantastically so far!"
Croagunk, Whirlipede, and Riolu fight well on their own. I'm just there pretending to guide them. "Got lucky, I guess."
"I don't think it's luck, Miss Mono."
I found Croagunk after he got abandoned by his trainer. Riolu was a stray on the outskirts of Nimbasa and needed a home. And meeting Whirlipede was an accident.
"Please do not discount yourself."
I'm not a trainer. I'm not supposed to be here.
"I think your journey has only just begun."
One of the doors opened. An Audino with a cart walked to Ingo and Mono's table. On top of the cart sat a kettle and bowls with colored packets, tiny cartons of liquid, and small sticks. On the secondary shelf were stacks of cups. "I have coffee!"
"Miss Mono, the coffee is complimentary. There's also a dining kart if you'd like to fuel yourself." Ingo took the cup Audino offer him. "Thank you very much," he said to the pokemon.
"Uh, thanks." Sneasler accepted her own cup. She stared at the dark liquid inside as Audino placed cups with packets and tiny cartons and a couple sticks on the table. She brought the cup to her nose and sniffed.
"Do you like coffee, Miss Mono?" Ingo asked as he prepared his own cup.
"Coffee, huh?" She sniffed again. It didn't smell bad. "I've seen Elesa drink this stuff, but I haven't yet."
"Really? I'm surprised."
"She's offered, but I just didn't feel like it. But, uh... here I go, I guess." Sneasler brought the cup to her lips and took in a mouthful of the liquid.
She slammed the cup to the table and covered her mouth with her hand lest she spit everything over poor Ingo.
"Are you alright?!" Ingo yelled loud enough that Audino, who left for another car, opened the door and ran to Ingo and Mono.
Sneasler waved at both Ingo and Audino with her free hand as she swallowed. "I'm fine! I'm fine!" She looked at Audino, who had placed her feelers on her chest. "No really, I'm alright."
"Okay... But I hope what's making you sad goes away..." Audino retracted her feelers and returned to the other car.
I heard that. "Sorry, Ingo. It was just really, really bitter, and I didn't expect it. Smelled and tasted really different."
"Hm, you do run into surprises in a journey sometimes. May I try something?" Ingo pointed to Mono's cup.
"If you want it, take it." Sneasler grabbed napkins and began wiping up the coffee that splashed out when she slammed the cup down.
Ingo grabbed a packet and a tiny carton and poured their contents into the cup. "I find black coffee too bitter to fully enjoy as well. That surprises people, but I'm not sure why." He stirred the mixture together with a stirring stick and then offered it to Mono. "I added cream and sugar to your drink, which is how I like it. I hope this is more palatable for you."
Sneasler glanced between Ingo and the cup. She grabbed the cup with a delicate hold and slowly took a sip. She braced for the bitterness, but the sweetness calmed down the bitterness like a Light Screen reducing a Psychic's damage. "That's not... terrible. I don't think I'll be drinking much coffee, though."
"That's alright! You need to know what works best for you, just like how you need to know how to keep a machine well-oiled!"
Sneasler chuckled. "Everything comes back to trains for you, huh?"
"Well, trains are fascinating! The way they're made, how they work, how precisely you can make schedules and get everyone to where they want at the right time! Why else would Emmet and I format a battle facility in a series of them? On that line of thought, why did you decide to work specifically at Gear Station? You said you weren't a pokemon trainer, so was there another reason?"
He's conveniently leaving out the part of our first meeting where I said I knew them, but okay. "I... Listen, I'm not that good with technology. I can get the gist of things, but it'll take me a bit to get used to them. But... I... I have two younger brothers that love trains." Sneasler's eyes widened as soon as she registered what she just said, but she could not take that back. "And... it's really nice to hear them excited. They've shown me books about them because they think it's fun to talk about them to someone who doesn't know squat. ...For a lot of reasons, I haven't been able to see them, and the Battle Subway... reminds me of them." She blinked more frequently as something welled behind her eyes.
Ingo's signature frown softened. "I see... Well, I'm glad to have you ride with us, and I hope you see your brothers soon."
"Me, too."
Ingo and Sneasler decided in silence to watch the view as their train passed by different areas. They breezed through forests, went through mountain tunnels and over bridges, and witnessed the sky turn from orange to blue. Ingo made comments about cities and landmarks but was clearly less energetic than before.
By the time they passed through Undella Town, Sneasler groaned, making Ingo jump. "Holy rift, I made this trip so awkward. I am so sorry."
"Please do not apologize! This has not been awkward for me, but does that mean it was awkward for you?" Ingo asked, frowning deeply.
"C'mon, stop deflecting. I can't believe you've always been like this."
"What do you mean?"
"It's been a bad trip, and you know it. I can see it in your face." Sneasler pointed at Ingo and traces circles in the air.
"Really? I've been told that I'm rather stiff..."
"Compared to Emmet, yeah, but... I can still see it." Sneasler sighed. "Maybe it would've been better if you just did this on your own."
ingo hummed. "If you hadn't been at Gear Station, I most likely would have gone on this train by myself. While that would have made for a fine trip, journeys are made better when shared with others." He looked into Mono's eyes. "Miss Mono, I know that Elesa has been a great help for you, but please also know that Emmet and I are here to help you move forward to your destination!"
Sneasler rested her head on her hands. "And dramatic as ever, too. I'll never understand how you always say stuff like that so sincerely."
"My job is to transport passengers along their journeys to greater heights. Why wouldn't I be happy about what I do?"
"The more you talk, the more you keep using Dig." Sneasler laughed as Ingo got more confused. "It's not a bad thing, Ingo. Don't change that part of you, okay?"
Ingo's eyes widened. "I... Thank you, Miss Mono. I shall do my best."
The rest of the trip was quiet, but with the air cleared, they watched the scenery change in comfort. Though fascinated with the shifting landscapes and cities, Sneasler took glances at Ingo. His human face was slightly harder for her to read than his Sneasel face, but he definitely relaxed into his seat.
Ingo said something about liking train rumbling, right? I guess that's why. ...Have I ever seen him like this? My ancestor definitely didn't. He doesn't really relax on vacations either. Maybe the warden and rescuer stuff takes more out of him than he wants to say? I know he enjoys it, but that responsibility...
I really am going to kick Arceus' ass one of these days.
***
When they returned to Gear Station, Ingo left to check on the status of maintenance, and Sneasler returned to her temporary home and take a nap. She didn't know why her body hurt more than normal. She decided to blame it on her weird human body.
Elesa described her apartment as small, but to Sneasler, it was massive compared to Ingo and Emmet's old tent at the Pearl Guild. She also gave Mono her own guest room, but the train ride tired her out so much that she crashed onto the rectangular but plush couch in the living room. She fell asleep almost as soon as she closed her eyes.
The ringing of a bell woke Sneasler from her dreamless nap. She jumped to a sitting position, accidentally making Riolu and Croagunk fall off her and onto the floor.
"What the?" Sneasler cursed as she looked between the two dazed tiny pokemon and Whirlipede wrapped around her basket. "When did you guys get here?"
"Came outta our balls like an hour ago," Croagunk said.
"You looked comfy..." Riolu said.
The doorbell rang again.
"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Sneasler combed her fingers through her hair to fix it. The ends curled back up to their usual position. She opened the door.
"I am Emmet. Hi there, Mono." Like Ingo, he did not wear his signature coat and hat, but his outfit was even more unfamiliar to Sneasler. His pants looked almost like normal ones, but the shirt had some sort of colorful floral pattern she didn't expect, let alone from him.
"Hi. Uh, if you're looking for Elesa, she's outta town right now," Sneasler said.
"I know. You have the day off, and so do I. Do you want to go somewhere with me?"
"First your brother, now you?! Is this some sort of new employee ritual thing, or...?"
"Not at all. I am just curious about you." Emmet smiled even more.
Sneasler sighed. "Alright, fine, I guess. Might as well. Why not?" She turned to her pokemon behind her. "You guys gonna be okay here?"
"You're not taking them with you?" Emmet stared intensely at Mono.
"Am... I supposed to?" Sneasler paused, then she added, "Are you gonna challenge me to a battle?!"
"Not today. For you safety, it is a good idea for pokemon trainers to have at least one pokemon with them at all times."
Why am I getting deja vu? "Alright. Everyone cool with coming with?" After a set of affirmative answers, she walked back to the couch where her basket rested next to. She kept her pokeballs inside, along with her hat and coat, the Toxic Plate, and other important items. "...Wait. Do you have a pokemon on you?"
"Of course!" Emmet said.
On cue, a Jotik popped his head out of the pocket on Emmet's shirt. "Hello!"
Sneasler stared at Emmet and Jotik in stunned silence. "Why am I surprised anymore?"
---
Emmet led Mono to Nimbasa City's amusement park while marching and swinging his arms straight, which was more impressive to witness compared to when he did it as a Sneasel.
"We have arrived at Ronde-View Ferris Wheel. Ronde-View Ferris Wheel," Emmet said while pointing at Mono.
"Elesa mentioned something about a "Ferris wheel". You just go around in a circle?" Sneasler asked.
"Correct. It is not a thrill ride, but they give us a good view of Nimbasa City. Are you afraid of heights?"
"No! I'm a rock climber, and you can't be a climber if you're afraid of heights!" Unless there's a bottomless Distortion World void beneath me, but that's just common sense.
"Rock climbing? Verrrry interesting." Emmet narrowed his eyes at Mono.
Sneasler narrowed her eyes back at him. "Yeah. Haven't done it in a while, though."
"Would you like to try today? A rock climbing wall was set up here recently."
"Wait, really? A wall that you just... climb? As a human?"
"'As a human'?" Emmet repeated.
"...Well, I'm just used to regular rocks and cliffs. That's all."
The ride operator stopped the wheel and let people exit a gondola. She approached the gate that Emmet and Mono stood at. "Hello! How many people do we have?"
"Two," Emmet said. "All aboard!"
The pokeball-shaped gondolas were large enough to fit at least four humans and maybe a few small pokemon. The pokeball designs were upside down, making the white half see-through for people to look out of. Mono stepped onto the gondola and got surprised when the floor gave under her weight.
"What the hell?!" Sneasler jumped backward, hitting Emmet with her basket. He quickly caught himself instead of falling.
"Oh, don't worry, Miss! Some of these cars can swing," the ride operator said. "If you'd like, you can wait behind the gate and the next car will stay still."
"That car would be preferable for both of us, I think. Please stand by, Mono," Emmet said, pointing to the line gate.
Sneasler reluctantly stood back and took the next gondola. To her relief, it remained still when she stepped onto it. She and Emmet took opposite seats. Once settled, the operator closed the door and started the ride.
"That was embarrassing," Sneasler said. "I just wanna say, I think the moving one would be fine. I just didn't expect it."
"You are fine, Mono. As I said, I like the cars that don't move. The wheel moves us, anyway." Emmet looked to their left. "I enjoy riding trains and running the Battle Subway. But I also like rides like this because I get a change in perspective."
"Change in perspective, huh?" Sneasler watched them slowly rise above the different buildings in the city. Previously, she could only get a view like this from climbing mountains or riding on Eelektross' back (though he couldn't for long). Not to mention that she mostly saw man-made buildings as ruins, as landmarks of times long past. Here, they were new and pristine.
"Now that our trip has begun, I need to ask you something," Emmet said. "Who are you?"
Sneasler blinked at him. "Is your memory alright? My name's Mono."
"You introduced yourself as Sneasler first."
Sneasler frowned. She mentally kicked herself for confusing Ingo and Emmet so much when they first saw each other. How was she supposed to know she ended up in Unova before Ingo went missing? "It's just a nickname. I mistook you two for someone else."
"Your nickname is the name of an extinct pokemon?"
"Extinct?!" No, wait, calm down! The Nobles weren't active when humans were around. Not extinct. Just in hiding. "I mean... yeah, weird name, it's a long story. And what does it matter?"
Emmet readjusted himself and leaned forward. "I'm just curious. You had a verrrry strong entrance. What is your goal? I want to see your track is going."
Sneasler groaned and put her head into her hands. "Why are you two like this? Ingo got done talking to me about basically the same thing!"
"Huh. I didn't know that. We took different lines but accidentally converged." Emmet smiled. "But I think he gets something different out of questions than I do. We see things differently, and that makes us strong together. I want to learn more! Where do you want your journey to go, Mono?"
"I..." Sneasler leaned back and lazily stared out the window to think. Talking with Ingo started this train of thought, and talking with Emmet needed to finish it.
I want to fucking go home. But I have no idea how to do that, so maybe if I get money, I can go to the Sinnoh region, find the Nobles of this era, and get them to help me. ...If I can find them. If they can get me in contact with Dialga or someone. Could they turn me back into a Sneasler? Ingo and Emmet kinda turned back, but they kinda didn't either. And there's no way I could become like what they are now!
"Mono?" Emmet asked. "Do you not have an answer? If so, that's fine. That's a valid feeling."
"No, I... I do, it's just..." There's no dungeons here. There's no Nobles or rescue teams or anything I know. I don't know what I'm doing here. I don't know anything about being a trainer or being around humans. And just to top it all off, my body isn't mine anymore! Losing my memories would be a blessing at this point! Because at least I don't have to look at Emmet or Ingo and have them look back at me as a stranger!
The Ferris wheel stopped moving. Their gondola returned to ground level.
"Why are you crying?" Emmet reached into a different shirt pocket and offered Mono a tissue. "You really don't have to answer if you can't."
"Why do you care?! You don't even know me!" Sneasler stood up and grabbed her basket. She slammed open the cart and hopped over the exit gate. She looked down at the ground as she walked so that no one saw her tears.
She found a patch of grass and trees at the edge of the park. A shrill winding sound came from her basket, making her jump. Sneasler then nearly fall over as her basket got a heavy weight added inside that wasn't there before. After placing the basket down, she leaned on the tree and slid down to a sitting position. She covered her eyes with one hand.
"Sneasler?" Her Croagunk asked, having come out of his pokeball to face his trainer. "You wanna talk?"
"I am never gonna get used to that pokeball sound." She unlocked the latch on her basket and slapped the top off. "Why are you here?"
Croagunk popped his head out. "You're crying and stormed off from your friend and you're surprised I wanna ask why?"
Sneasler sighed. "Stop pretending you care. I only caught you so I could pretend I'm a trainer."
"You do realize that you totally are a pokemon trainer by now, between me and Riolu and Whirlipede?"
"I'm not a pokemon trainer!"
"Then what are you?"
"I... I don't know anymore, damn it! Like, I was just a Sneasel with a Noble mom. Then my mom died, I had to evolve to a Sneasler take over her title, which sounds great, but it's not! Because everyone wants you to be the ultimate rescuer with super strength and memories from past Nobles and other weird powers! And then a whole bunch of shit happened and everyone became convinced Ingo and Emmet are my younger brothers which is fine! I guess! Because pokemon and even the other Nobles started to respect me more!
"And then! AND THEN!" Sneasler took a deep breath. "Without an ounce of warning, I wake up! In a different time period! In a totally different world! I've never been around humans, I only have memories of them, and even THOSE are vague at best, and now I have to ACT like one?! I had claws for climbing, and now I have weak, soft fingers and nails that break under the slightest load! My back hurts if I carry my basket for too long which NEVER used to happen! I have to pretend to not know what every pokemon I hear is saying!" Sneasler pinched her cheeks. "And to top it all off, whoever did this to me decided to give me a face that looks like Ingo and Emmet's! But they don't know me! And they're the only people in this world I should know but I don't!"
Croagunk tilted his head to look at someone behind Mono and wave. "Hi there, Emmet."
Sneasler scrambled to standing position. Though absolutely terrified, she needed to see if Croagunk told the truth. Unfortunately for her, there Emmet stood, his face frozen and his smile open, wanting to say something but no sound coming out.
Sneasler recalled Uxie's description of when Arceus took Ingo: the world opened up below Ingo and Emmet. They were sucked down until the portal touched one of them and threw out the other. Since Arceus thought Ingo and Emmet were two of the same person, maybe they would think the same thing of her. If Arceus opened a portal right below her feet, she would fall in first and then touch the portal first and leave Emmet and Ingo alone. They're left behind while thinking they lost a weird employee. Nothing of value was lost. But that would mean she becomes a target of Chained Giratina. She could weather a blow if she was still a Sneasler, but as a weak, squishy human? She could die and be unable to return home. And Dialga would likely become upset at the time paradox this scenario would definitely make.
She would rather face an enraged Dialga than explain to Emmet what he just heard.
"...How much of that did you get?" Mono asked, voice just above a whisper.
"Not all of it, I think," Emmet said. "...Do you want another few days off? There's some new tech in Paldea. There's something about being able to feel what it's like to become a pokemon."
Sneasler's face started to turn red. "If I'm flying somewhere, I'd rather go someplace else." Namely, the Sinnoh region. "And right now? I'd rather go home. Just forget everything, okay? Forget everything I ever said, and I'm not bothering you or Ingo ever again, okay?!"
Emmet placed a hand on Mono's shoulder. "You are not the first human who wants to be a pokemon. I've thought about it when I was younger."
Sneasler facepalmed. Somehow, that's worse than if he found out the truth. But at least that means he's not paying attention to me "knowing" him. "Emmet. I'm asking a lot as someone you don't know well." She grabbed his shoulders. "But please don't tell people about this. It's... embarrassing."
"Sure." He presented the tissue that he tried to offer her before. "Once you are ready, do you want to try that rock climbing wall? Would that help you feel better?" Emmet pointed in the direction of the attraction.
Sneasler sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. She took his tissue and cleaned up the leftover tears. "It might, it might not, but you'll know either way, I guess??" She grabbed her basket, surprised it wasn't as heavy as before. Croagunk returned to the ball, I guess. "Let's go. All aboard, conductor."
A short walk later, Sneasler saw what Emmet talked about. Calling it a wall for climbing would be generous at best. It was maybe 15 meters high, adorned with candy-colored rocks, and surrounded by soft-looking mats.
"You sure it's for adults? Adult humans?" Sneasler asked. She imagined her mom using a wall like that to teach her how to climb.
"Of course it is." Before waiting for a reply, he walked to the line.
Oh. He just wants to try climbing. That's why he's still hanging out with me. May as well join him and make sure he doesn't hurt himself. Sneasler sighed and followed behind Emmet.
Different humans - some kids, some adults - stepped up for the opportunity to climb. They wrapped straps around their waists, which connected to a pulley and then to the operator's pokemon, a Sawk and a Throh. Some people didn't reach the top, but those that did rang a bell hanging there next to some Pidoves. The human running the area had a remote connected to a couple timers. Even small pokemon were allowed to give it a shot, though she noted that none of them were natural climbers.
"We're next. All aboard!" Emmet said as the gate opened to let them in.
"Do you know how to climb, Emmet?" Sneasler asked. The mats squished under her feet, confirming her suspicion of being soft.
"No, but trying could be fun!" Emmet smiled even more.
"Whoa, you already have a harness?" The operator asked, looking at Mono.
"Unbelievably, yes," Sneasler said. When she woke up in this world, she wore the coat and hat the twins gifted her and her basket that still contained the Poison Plate. All the other clothes she arrived in were already on her person: the shirt with a fluffy collar, pants, boots, and fake gemstone decorations. She didn't even know what the harness was until Elesa explained it.
The operator hooked her and Emmet to the safety system and then gave them tips for climbing that Sneasler did not listen to. She stared at her hands. This isn't gonna end well. There's too many humans around looking at us. Is it because of Emmet? I haven't tried climbing with this body yet, but I hate not having my claws. Is this how they felt in their Sneasel bodies?
"Uh, miss? Don't you want to take off your backpack?" the operator asked.
"Nope." Sneasler readjusted her basket for stability. "You ready, Emmet?"
Emmet nodded. "Follow the rules. Safe driving! Follow the schedule. Everybody smile!"
As soon as Emmet began reciting his mantra, Sneasler joined in without even thinking about it. When she realized what she was doing, she turned her head to Emmet, who stared back with wide eyes as he kept going. Sorry Emmet, you've said it so much that it burrowed into me.
"Check safety. Everything's ready! Aim for victory! All aboard!" Emmet and Mono finished together. The operator wisely decided to start the timer right then.
Sneasler jumped and grabbed two rocks. She tapped her nails against the colored rocks protruding from the gray wall, hearing and feeling an unnatural hardness and hollowness. Her fingers couldn't dig into the material. She placed her feet on two rocks, and even though she couldn't feel them through the boots, it was sturdy enough to support her weight.
One foot up. Her leg extended, and she grabbed higher rocks. Another step gave her more height. And another. The colored rocks looked like child's play, but they provided a clear, stable path despite their strange and varied shapes. Her body was weaker, but it possessed enough strength to keep her grip and climb at a steady pace. Even as the steepness increased, she was too focused to let it slip her up.
Before she knew, the bell hanged right above her head. With her feet and hands firmly planted, she grabbed the rope and rang the bell for all to hear.
"YES! I can still climb!" In Sneasler's elation, she lost her grip on the wall. She half-expected a certain ghost's Psychic to catch her, but instead, a tug on her harness indicated that the operator's pokemon held her rope, letting her hang in the air. Below her came claps and cheers, but she looked down to find one person in particular.
"You won! That was fun! You did great, Mono!" Emmet near-shouted. He managed to climb halfway up the wall, which Sneasler did not expect, given his thin frame. He let go of the wall without an ounce of fear.
When they were lowered and touched ground, the operator ran at Sneasler. "You climbed that wall in 15 seconds! That's a new record! What's your name, miss?"
"Uh... Mono." I could've done it in half that time if I was still a Sneasler.
"Thank you for climbing with us! Here's your prize!" The operator reached into a pack connected to his belt and pulled out four tickets.
Sneasler snatched the pieces of paper. "Free... Casteliacone... voucher?" She looked at Emmet. "The hell's a Casteliacone?"
"It's a soft serve ice cream. You can get them in Castelia City, which is south from Nimbasa City," Emmet said.
"Oh. Nice." She turned to the operator. "Uh, thanks, I guess."
After Mono and Emmet left the rock climbing area, they found a bench next to a dedicated space to let their pokemon roam. Besides the Joltik from his pocket, Emmet also let Archeops, Durant, and Crustle. Croagunk and Riolu hanged out in their own area, but Whirlipede ran with Archeops for a race - which Sneasler overheard.
"Do you feel better now, Mono?" Emmet asked.
"Kinda." Her fingertips turned red and tough from the exertion. She turned her palm around to stare at the design of her fingerless gloves. "...Sorry for getting mad at you."
"You're not the first. But that climb was amazing. I was hoping for a competition, but I completely lost. It was so fun!" Emmet said. "Yep. You're definitely someone I want to watch for more than one reason. These are the only three pokemon you have?"
"Yep. I have my hands pretty full right now. Why?" she asked, but she already knew what his answer would be.
"When you find a fourth, you should try working for me on the Doubles Line."
"...When? Not if?" Sneasler turned to Emmet and raised an eyebrow.
"Correct. And when you get stronger, you should face me in a battle - after you face 20 trainers first, that is." Emmet smiled even wider.
Sneasler sighed. "You really were always like this, too, huh?"
"Yes? One day, you should also tell us why you act so casually with me and my brother!"
"I said you needed to forget that!" Sneasler once again promised herself to kick the butt of Arceus and whoever is responsible for her predicament.
#pmd ltot swap au#pmd au#do I tag submas?#it's been a bit since i've written for these guys and i think it shows#doesn't help that i have to write ingo and emmet slightly different than i have before#and that we get more directly into sneasler's/mono's head#will we get more? WHO KNOWS! CUZ I DON'T!#swap au#forgot the most important tag lmao
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Hi hello 👋👋👋
Im the one that asked about Mr Qi headcanons last time and I'm about to ask again
Do you have any angst for our funny blue man? :]c
Hey hey 👋
I have a few random headcanons here, but hope you like it 😄 Thanks for your ask and have a nice day! 💕
_________________________________________
If you ask Mr. Qi his first name, he will only smile and say that it is a mystery. "A mystery even to me" will always echo in his head. Because he no longer remembers what his name was. I think Mr. Qi has been around long enough that he already has trouble remembering who he was in his past life. Did he have friends? Did his parents love him? Were there parents at all, because he doesn't remember their faces. All these memories have turned into one big mirage, and he no longer knows what is true and what is fantasy. It doesn't matter now. He's Mr Qi. now.
Even the Ferngill Republic itself didn't have such a huge number of enemies and ill-wishers as Mr. Qi personally had. If you have very valuable information, some superhuman power, or magical artifacts, some people will sooner or later find out about it and want to "become friends" and use you. There are so many of them that Qi has to deal with his enemies almost on a daily basis. This has become so commonplace for Mr. Qi that he no longer sees these people as people, but as annoying mosquitoes that buzz above his ear. He knows they're asking for it, but he's been so indifferent to human lives lately.... Sometimes this thought makes him shudder.
Grandpa and Farmer weren't the first to whom Mr Qi offered his unusual challenges. There were many more candidates before the two of them. Some, whom the mysterious blue man had managed to befriend, like Grandpa, had died. Some had decided to stab him in the back, trying to cheat or even sell information about his whereabouts to his enemies. You might not be able to tell from the looks of it, but Qi had experienced loss and betrayal painfully. So he became more cautious of people. But still he did not give up his idea to make the world more interesting and strive for perfection.
Mr. Qi knows that Grandpa deserved to rest after all the trials he had passed honourably. He knows that he should not have become attached to the man when he himself was already an immortal. But the death of a close friend, perhaps his only true friend, was the hardest. Such was the curse of immortality - to see your family and friends pass from life forever. He had watched Grandpa from the very beginning of their acquaintance, how he had bravely dealt with every hardship, and yet had not lost his kindness and generosity. How he remained the same wonderful and honest man, even with wealth and recognition. And how Grandpa, before his eternal sleep, was able to comfort his friend and give him some wise advice. To him, the great Qi who knew about everything and had everything he wanted, who was usually the one who bestowed something, not the other way round....
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#aaa#ive gone through like#20 design ideas for my delta..sona? idek#i want to use my nephilim guy but i want something apart of the universe so uuuu#but like i originally made an addison but decided against that#cause he wouldnt be able to stay at card castle#then i thought about a human but decided no so... heres this#it is a knight!! also it goes by it/itself pronouns :3#i dont know what exactly it is so i might change the design or some point or maybe do a spin on my neph guy to be more themed#sorry for rambling!!!#my art#💙
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